Nihilism
by LilaKatze
Summary: He could not see the heart. It did not exist. That much he was sure of. But who was the pale, black-winged man who appeared in his dreams? And why did he want Harry to find a girl whose life was completely separate from his own? T for later violence.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: If I owned this, oh man…

Nihilism

by

LilaKatze

PROLOGUE

_Long Ago. . . _

Beneath a lifeless crescent moon, the desert stretched on. Its barren, ice-white dunes glittered frostily in the moonlight, untouched by sun or rain or wind. Trees long dead and turned to stone, petrified by time and solitude, marred the otherwise plain horizon.

On one such tree, a bat hung, its ears flicking back and forth. Like the rest of its world, it was white as bone, except for twin green streaks that seemed to fall from the empty eyes of its skeletal mask.

Suddenly, it twisted into the air, barely avoiding the stinger of a monstrous, eight-legged, scorpion-creature. The scorpion scuttled to and fro on the sand as the bat fluttered overhead, hissing at its escaped prey. The bat bared its teeth. A sphere of bloody light formed before its fangs.

The sphere hurtled toward the scorpion, killing it in one clean strike. The bat lit upon the its smoking body, sinking in its fangs. It gorged itself upon its kill, then lifted its head from the bloodless flesh and flew away, vanishing into the perpetual night.

/\/\/\/\/\/\

_Nearly two years after the end of the Winter War. . ._

The child stared blankly at the bars of his crib, his acid-green eyes apathetic. He ignored the countless toys meant to entice him to laughter and the bright atmosphere of the cheerily painted nursery. He neither moved nor spoke, but simply sat, silent and void.

"I worry about him, James," he heard the mother whisper. "It's as if he knows his very life is in danger..."

"Nonsense, Lily," the father replied. "He's a little quiet, to be sure, but—"

"He's more than just 'a little quiet'! He barely moves, barely eats or even says a word! He doesn't smile like. . ." she looked down. "Like normal children."

James embraced his wife, stroking her hair. She closed her eyes and leaned into him, a tear dripping down one cheek.

"I'm sure it's just a stage, Lily-flower," he said softly. He was glad she could not see the uncertainty in his eyes.

"I hope you're right," she murmured into his shoulder.

/\/\/\/\/\/\

"Lily! Grab Harry and go!" James shouted. He cursed himself for lowering his guard. Damn Pettigrew!

Lily raced to the nursery, where Harry sat in his crib, emotionless as ever. She heard the sounds of a struggle, breaking china and spellfire. There was a thump, and silence.

Pain in her heart, she tried to scoop Harry up, but he slipped from her grasp, as always unresponsive. The door slammed open.

The child didn't understand what was happening, but the mother felt of fear that filled the air around her, and the other felt of death that tore the very air apart with its strength. He couldn't yet understand the mother's pleads and screams, but when she fell and was silent and felt of nothing, he knew she was dead. Then the other turned toward him, and the reek of death intensified, drawing a noose tight around his throat.

The other was going to kill him.

As though a floodgate burst, he felt a power rush within him. Pure instinct guided his actions. He pointed at the other, and the other pointed something that dripped with dark power at him. Green light glowed from both tips.

"AVADA KEDAVRA!" the other screamed, his eyes filled with savage triumph.

"Cero," the child said, the sharp word tearing from his infant lips like a sword.

The destructive energies collided in a blazing explosion of emerald fire. The other's body vaporized at once, his spirit shrieking with rage as it fled. A tiny sliver of his curse made its way through the cero, slicing into the child's forehead, leaving a gash that burned both soul and flesh. The child slumped over, unconscious, as the house around him went up in flames.

/\/\/\/\/\/\

The Dursleys feared their nephew.

Perhaps it was his cold, green eyes that unnerved them. They knew to much, judging the Dursleys and finding them… lacking. Or maybe it was his unnatural silence. He spoke only when necessity forced him to, and even then, his words were short, not a word wasted. Or maybe it was something else, some untouchable air around him that spoke of danger and death.

They stayed away from him and his hollow eyes and unbearable silence, allowing him to do anything so long as they weren't around to see. He wandered as he wished, finding solace in loneliness and respite in darkness. He educated himself, analyzing the actions of those around him and absorbing knowledge from the books at the library. School mattered little to him, and the teachers learned to never call on him, lest he fix his stony gaze upon them. The students shivered when he passed, fearing him more than any bully or figure of authority.

No one spoke of the strange things that happened around him, the strong winds and broken glass and the way his eyes glowed when he was disturbed. They knew that, no matter what the science books claimed did not exist, Harry Potter was a demon.

/\/\/\/\/\/\

CHAPTER 1

"Dudley, go get the mail."

The fat boy opened his mouth to protest, but Vernon shot him a look. Sulking, Dudley scooted out of his chair and waddled to the front door. With a grunt, he bent over to pick up the letters beneath the mail slot and waddled back to the kitchen, handing the letters to Vernon and getting back into his chair.

Vernon went through them, scowling at bills and harshly ripping apart junk mail. He stopped at one particularly heavy letter, staring at the address, aghast. Vernon's face drained of blood, becoming the color of old milk.

"Petunia… it's from _them._"

She looked at the envelope in his hands, then covered her mouth in shock. "What… what should we do?"

Harry looked up from his plate of barely-touched eggs.

Vernon slowly regained color. "He's already a freak as he is… if he goes _there_ then at least he'll be gone for most of the year."

Petunia nodded. "Yes—yes, of course, you're right," she said quickly, darting a glance at Harry.

"Who's it for?" Dudley asked, craning his neck to get a glimpse of the letter.

"Go do your room, duddykins," Petunia said, saccharine sweet. Dudley pouted.

"But I want to—"

"Now!" Vernon commanded, and Dudley squeaked, hurriedly shuffling out of the kitchen and up the stairs. Vernon turned to Harry.

"It's for you," he grunted, sliding the letter across the table. Harry picked it up, inspecting it.

_Mr. H. Potter  
The Smallest Bedroom  
4 Privet Drive  
Little Whinging  
Surrey_

Why did they (whoever they were) know where he slept? Harry noted the lack of return address and the unusual color and texture of the letter. Was it parchment? He turned the envelope over, running his fingers over the red seal stamped with an ornate 'H'. Sliding a finger under the flap, Harry opened the envelope, letting its contents, two sheets of the same thick maybe-parchment and a small gold key with an accompanying note, fall onto the table.

He read the letters to himself as the Dursleys fidgeted in their seats, beads of sweat forming at their temples, not knowing what was going through their young ward's mind. He finished, still expressionless despite the content of the letters, then picked up the key, turning it back and forth.

"You knew." he stated.

"Yes," Petunia said nervously. "My sister—your mother—she was-"

"I know. Tomorrow, take me to London." Harry left the table and went to 'the smallest bedroom' to analyze his letter. The Dursleys sighed in relief.

/\/\/\/\/\/\

There was a timid knock on Harry's door. Harry looked up.

"Enter," he called, realizing that, whatever it was, it had to be important for his family to willingly approach him.

The door creaked open, revealing Petunia. She clutched something in her hands.

"This—this was left with you on our doorstep," she said. She set it on Harry's desk and closed the door again. Her footsteps rapidly faded away.

Harry rose from the bed, stepping over to his desk. It was a long roll of the same heavy material as the letter. He untied the string that held it closed, and began to read.

_October 31, 1981_

_Dearest Petunia Dursley nee Evans,_

_It is my most sincere regret to inform you that your sister, Lily Potter nee Evans, was murdered today in her home by the Dark Lord Voldemort, along with her husband James Potter. Inexplicably, her son, Harry, survived. I beg you to take him into your home and heart._

_Young Harry will need your support in the years to come. No doubt strange occurrences will surround him; it is only accidental magic. When he is eleven years of age, he will be eligible to attend Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please explain to him his unfortunate past and his heritage._

_In the Wizarding World, Harry's status has been heightened to something akin to a celebrity. I'm afraid that if he matures in such an environment, it will be detrimental to his character. I hope you home can allow him to grow in the peace he deserves._

_Again, my deepest sympathy and condolences for your tragic loss. Lily and James were among the best and brightest of their generation. They will be missed._

_ Until we meet again,_

_ Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore_

_P.S. Birth and legal papers are enclosed. You'll find no one will think twice about Harry's sudden appearance._

/\/\/\/\/\/\

Harry entered the tiny, dusty wand shop, taking in the countless shelves and the dim lighting.

"Hello there, Mr. Potter."

Harry whirled around, both irritated and fascinated that the old man in front of him had snuck up on him.

"You are Ollivander?"

"But of course," the man said, staring at him with his wide, silver eyes. "You've quite an aura about you, Mr. Potter. Very powerful, not unlike your mother. Oh, her wand was a work of beauty! Willow, slender and swishy, made for charms work. Your father, he was a bit more brash, mahogany, eleven inches, good for transfigurations."

Harry remained silent. Ollivander stared unblinkingly at him for several moments, then smiled broadly, his teeth flashing in the lamplight.

"Well then, let's begin. Which is your dominant hand?"

Harry held out his right, and Ollivander nodded. The old man took out a tape measure, and hummed a bit as he took Harry's measurements. Harry fought the urge to move away. No one touched him.

Letting the tape measure continue its work solo, Ollivander turned to his wands, running his hands over their boxes lovingly.

"Here, twelve and a quarter inches, dragon heartstring, ebony, somewhat brittle." He placed the wand in Harry's hand, then frowned and removed it quickly. "No, no, no, that doesn't fit at all. Hmm, eleven and a half, rosewood and phoenix feather, pliable." Again, Ollivander snatched away the wand as soon as Harry touched it.

The stack of 'no' boxes piled up, and Ollivander seemed to take glee in having such a 'tricky customer'.

"Well, maybe, let's see, holly and phoenix, eleven inches, pleasant and supple." He handed the wand to Harry. He held it for a second, and an explosion of copper sparks flew out its end, filling the store will the smell of brimstone and smoke.

"Ah, no, I see, far too temperamental. How strange, I was almost certain…" He continued to search through the shelves, disappearing into a shadowy corner. He emerged with a dust-covered box. Harry could feel it pulsing with power.

"Well, it doesn't hurt to try, does it?" Ollivander muttered, reverently taking out the wand inside. "My father made this wand, one of his last. He favored strange cores, liked to experiment. It's what got him killed, in the end." Ollivander sighed. "Rowan and Dementor's Bone, thirty-five centimeters, yes Father preferred centimeters, rather unyielding. Very powerful indeed." His eyes seemed glow as he passed the wand to Harry.

It felt icy cold to touch, but nearly hummed with power. Something within him seemed to connect with the wand, and a strange force surged through him, setting his blood aflame. The tip of the wand glowed acid green.

Harry's eyes widened as a memory tickled in his mind. He 'pulled' most of his power back in, and just in time. Instead of what _would _have happened, a firework display of green and white sparks filled the shop.

Ollivander smiled bitterly.

"It seems we've found your match, Mr. Potter. That is an extraordinarily potent wand." He grabbed hold of the boy's shoulder. Harry flinched away from the contact. "I didn't tell you everything about this wand. It wasn't just one of the last my father created, but rather _the_ last. He nearly lost his soul to collect the Dementor's Bone. It took him a year to carve the Rowan wood just right. In the end, when he tried to wield it, he was too weak." Ollivander leaned in close enough that all Harry could focus on was his eerie, moon-like eyes. "It backfired, and just like that, two centuries of wand lore and skill went up in literal flames."

Harry jerked out of the man's grip, taking several steps backward. "I'll be careful," he said.

Ollivander's eyes narrowed. "Good. Now, that will be twelve galleons. More than normal, but that's not a normal wand."

Harry handed over the money and left quickly, unnerved by the strange man.

/\/\/\/\/\/\

Harry stared at the young barn owl he had purchased. Who would have though wizards used _owls_ to communicate? It was bizarre, but Harry supposed he would have to get used to it. He tied his acceptance letter to the owl's outstretched leg and watched it fly off.

Rather than return to the Dursleys, Harry had opted to stay at the Leaky Cauldron. In truth, it wasn't exactly an improvement—the pub folk were loud, and the smell of cheap food permeated the entire building. However, he was close to the center of Wizarding commerce (at least for Britain), and that was important if he was to learn about this strange new world.

/\/\/\/\/\/\

Harry lounged in an empty compartment aboard the Hogwarts Express, flipping through _Curse or Be Cursed: A Thousand Jinxes, Hexes, Curses, and Their Counters._ Most of the spells seemed like mere trifles, but he supposed it was better to know them then not.

The door of his compartment opened, and a freckled boy with bright red hair peeked in.

"Um… can I sit here?"

Harry stared at the boy for a long moment, then nodded once. The boy gulped and sat in the seat across from Harry.

"I'm Ron Weasley," he said nervously, tugging at his collar.

"Harry Potter."

Ron gaped. "Harry Potter? Really?"

Harry looked at him scathingly. This boy was already getting on his nerves. Ron took no notice.

"Do you have… the scar?"

Harry narrowed his eyes. "Yes."

"Can I see it?" Ron asked hopefully.

Harry glared at the boy, then turned back to his book. He didn't notice Ron's crestfallen look.

"Trash," he muttered under his breath, ignoring the boy for the rest of the ride.

/\/\/\/\/\/\

Harry sat in silence at the Slytherin table, paying no heed to the loud gossip and stares sent his way. He was more famous than he initially realized, and it seemed that the 'Slytherin' house carried some sort of stigma that did not go with most of the school's expectations of him. He heard whispers of 'traitor,' and 'evil,' all around the Great Hall.

A blond, haughty boy dressed in expensive silk robes sidled up next to him.

"So. You're Harry Potter."

"Evidently."

The boy smirked.

"I'm Draco Malfoy. I'm sure you've heard of my father. He's quite well known among… certain circles."

The name 'Malfoy' had turned up in various books Harry had read. The only one that could possibly be the age to have an eleven-year-old son was Lucius Malfoy, the current Head of the House of Malfoy. Harry nodded in acknowledgement.

"I'm glad to see you in Slytherin House. I must say, you certainly have the colors for it."

Harry knew how he looked to others: thin, unnaturally pale, with messy, black, chin-length hair and vividly green eyes. Appearance-wise, he fit the Slytherin House perfectly.

And speaking of the Slytherin House, he had the feeling that he had to play his cards right around these children, at least until he was better acquainted with this new world.

"It is an honor to be part of a House of such noble history and antiquity," Harry replied. Draco smiled. It seemed he had said the right thing.

"Well… I had my doubts, but it seems they were misplaced. I'm sure you'll fit right in with the rest of us."

The others around the table subtlety turned to look at Harry. They whispered amongst each other, eyes sharp.

An upperclassman grinned and seemed to make up his mind. He walked over to Harry and extended his hand.

"Marcus Flint. Welcome to Slytherin, Harry Potter."

Harry took the offered hand, suppressing the urge to quickly remove it. "A pleasure," he replied.

/\/\/\/\/\/\

Harry stared analytically at 'Professor Snape' as he swept across the room, peering over student's shoulders and scowling darkly. He caught sight of Harry's gaze and his glare deepened.

"Something you want to say, Mr. Potter?" the man asked acidly.

"No, Professor."

"Then get back to work."

Harry looked down at his finished potion. It was the perfect periwinkle shade. Harry frowned for a moment, then took out a few vials from his potions kit and began to make a collection.

It made no sense to allow perfectly functional potions go to waste, even a simple burn cure.

/\/\/\/\/\/\

Harry relaxed in the cool atmosphere of the common room, having finished all of his school work. The common room was mostly deserted; it was the first Hogsmeade weekend.

The entrance of the common room opened, and Draco sauntered in, flanked by his two 'friends', Crabbe and Goyle. He noticed Harry and chose a seat near him.

"Good afternoon," he said, inspecting his nails. He glanced around at the sparsely populated room and frowned. "It's truly ridiculous, having to wait until third year to visit the village. I'll have to write to Father. Maybe he can talk some sense into the governors."

Harry nodded slightly and looked away.

Malfoy continued to talk. "Did you finish your Potions essay? It was the easiest thing; I don't know what Unc—Professor Snape was thinking when he assigned it." He paused. "He doesn't seem to like you very much. Do you know why?"

Harry shook his head no.

"Hmm. Well, it's odd of him. He usually favors us Slytherins, but he barely treats you better than a Gryffindor." Malfoy grimaced. "Speaking of Gryffindors, did you see that idiot Weasley in Charms the other day? He's a disgrace to purebloods everywhere; he doesn't even know basic magical theory!"

"He's trash," Harry replied. "He doesn't matter."

Malfoy smirked. "You're right. Let's talk about something else. Say, do you play Quidditch?"

/\/\/\/\/\/\

Harry looked at the rows of broomsticks. Just how often had wizards been exposed to be so close to the muggle stereotypes?

"Come on, lets find a… reasonably maintained broomstick… before the Gryffindors get here," Draco said, tugging on his arm. Harry flinched away, taking a step back.

"What's your problem?" Draco asked, frowning at him. Harry shook his head. "Well, then you go over to that one—" he pointed at a broom with most of its twigs facing in the right direction "—and I'll take this one," he said, walking next to a broomstick that was a smidge better than the one he had assigned Harry.

Harry moved to the broomstick, inspecting it warily. It didn't look at all safe, but he supposed that some sort of charm kept you from falling off… maybe.

Slowly, the Griffyndors trickled in, grumbling as they saw the Slytherins had already taken the best of the terrible school brooms. The instructor gave her directions, her hawk-like eyes watching their every move.

"Up!" Harry said, and the broom flew into his hand with a satisfying _thump_. He wrapped his fingers around its handle, smooth from years of similar grips, and felt a spark of magic within the wood come to life. He settled himself on top of it as per the teacher's request, only slightly surprised as he floated up until only the tips of his toes ghosted on the ground.

"Good. Now, on my mark. Three, two—Mr. Longbottom, I said to wait for my mark!"

The pudgy boy next to him had kicked off too soon. Without thinking too much, Harry leapt up after him, grabbing a handful of twigs. He roughly pulled the terrified boy down.

The jerking motion of his pull tossed the boy off his broom, but by then he was only three feet from the ground. Harry settled back down and resisted sneering. Trash. Utter trash. He wasn't sure why he even bothered to save the boy, who was now stuttering his thanks and apologizing to the instructor. He scrambled to his feet, still babbling.

"Thank you, Mr. Potter," Madam Hooch said lightly. "Mr. Longbottom, do get a hold of yourself."

Laughter rang out over the field.

"I'm sorry, ma'am, I mean, of course, ma'am," the boy replied, then, seeing the scathing look she was sending him, finally shut up.

"Go sit in the stands, Mr. Longbottom, and watch for today. Clearly you have problems listening to directions."

Longbottom's face glowed bright red as he stumbled over to the stands. Madam Hooch turned back to the students.

"Now, again, on my mark. Three, two, one, mark!"

Harry again pushed off the ground, the wind ruffling his already unruly hair. He easily rose higher into the sky, controlling his broom effortlessly. He felt as though he were born to fly; it simply felt natural.

And yet… something was off, weighing him down. He flew around some more, trying to pinpoint the feeling. Finally, he realized what was the problem. The broom itself felt wrong! It was like a ball and chain dragging behind him. Something seemed to be telling him that it was unnecessary, that he could fly without the aid of some magical trinket. The feeling grew within him until he couldn't bear it and drifted back to the ground.

"Is there a problem, Mr. Potter? You were doing just fine a moment ago."

He held out the offending broom.

"This thing is useless," he said. Frowning, the flying instructor took it, inspecting its handle and twigs.

"I admit it's not in the best of shapes, Mr. Potter, but as a learning device, it works just fine."

"I know how to fly. May I be excused?"

Madam Hooch looked at him for a long moment, then sighed and nodded.

"Very well, Mr. Potter. You have shown yourself to be proficient; there is no need for you to stay here. Go ahead."

Harry thanked her and walked back to the castle, not bothering to look back at the students overhead who were no doubt watching him leave.

/\/\/\/\/\/\

Harry gazed at the starry night above him, then glanced down at the drop below. It was a long fall from the Astronomy tower to the ground, but he had no intention of falling.

He pulled himself onto the window ledge, standing at the edge. A cool breeze ruffled his hair, exposing the thin scar so famous in the Wizarding World. Without hesitation, he leapt off.

Almost instantly, he hit 'solid' air. He surveyed his surroundings calmly, as though he were not floating hundreds of feet off the ground.

_How… interesting,_ he thought. It appeared his hunch was correct.

/\/\/\/\/\/\

Harry followed his House as they descended toward the Slytherin common rooms, nearly frowning. There was something wrong with the turbaned man, something… foul and oddly familiar about the way he felt. It had been that way all year, but this day, it had been so strong…

"This is idiotic," Draco whispered anxiously, eyes darting around. "Quirrel said the troll was in the dungeons, and where are we? The dungeons. This is too much. I'm telling Father about this."

Harry's near-frown deepened. He could feel that there was nothing but humans and ghosts in their vicinity. It added to his suspicious that his ability to sense things was unique to him, or at least rare. The troll (he concentrated for a moment) was somewhere on the fourth floor, near a young witch he knew as a muggleborn from a few of his classes.

The group reached the blank wall that was the entrance to the common rooms. A prefect spoke the password, and the children converged inside.

Harry moved to the room he shared with Draco (who chose to stay with the others) and sat on his bed, still focused on the troll overhead. He felt the witch's strength flare, then sputter. Quite suddenly, it disappeared altogether. She was dead.

An group of teachers approached the troll and dead girl, and their strengths flared in shock. Snape's spiked and the troll was gone.

Harry let the situation above fade out of his range, refocusing on the 'real' world. So, either Quirrel had been lying about the troll being in the dungeons, or it had somehow gotten all the way up to third or fourth floor in the time it had taken him to reach the Great Hall, which was possible, but unlikely. Why would have Quirrel even been in the dungeons, anyway? And there was no way a troll could have simply wandered in. Quirrel… he was up to something. Did it have anything to do with the forbidden corridor on the third floor?

Then Harry mentally shrugged. It wasn't his problem. It didn't matter to him at all.

/\/\/\/\/\/\

Harry often wandered about the corridors at night. It was peaceful in a way that daytime never was, especially in such a crowded place as Hogwarts. It was never difficult to avoid patrolling teachers or others still awake at such hours.

Today, he let himself slowly amble toward the fourth floor bathrooms. He slipped inside the girl's toilets out of idle curiosity, morbidly interested in place of the muggleborn witch's death.

The place had already been repaired—not a tile was out of place—but on one of the sinks sat the dead girl, her messy brown hair matted with blood, her hands over her face as tears dripped onto her lap. A long chain snaked down from her chest, onto the floor and through the door Harry had just entered. Harry wondered why he hadn't noticed it before.

The girl looked up and gasped.

"What are you doing here?" she asked. "Can you see me?"

"Yes," Harry replied warily. The girl sighed in relief.

"Nobody else can see me," she said, wiping her eyes. "No one. They keep on crying. I'm dead, aren't I?"

Harry nodded.

"I don't know what I'm doing here. I shouldn't be here. But I can't go." She tugged at the chain attached to her chest. "This leads to the library. I don't want to go there yet. Too many people." Her lip quivered, and she started to cry again. "I want to see my family! I don't want to be here. Look!" She held up her hand, and Harry could see it was very slightly transparent. "I think I'm turning into a ghost. I don't want to be a ghost! I want to go home…"

"There is nothing I can do," Harry said, turning to leave. The girl sobbed and stumbled off the sink, lurching towards him. She grabbed at his sleeve, but her hand merely passed through, and she slipped forward, falling into him, then onto the floor. Harry jumped aside.

A furious, ravenous hunger tore through him for a split second as he stared at the soul sprawled out on the ground, then just as suddenly the feeling disappeared, replaced by his usual cool calm.

"Help me," she pleaded, slowly getting to her feet. "Please… do something. Break the chain." She held it up and shook it. "Please!"

Harry looked at it, then at the girl. "Very well." He pointed his wand at the chain dragging on the floor and said, "Diffindo!"

The spell cleanly cut the chain, and the girl gasped and pulled the end toward her. She smiled in glee.

"Thank you!" she cried loudly, then disappeared through the wall. Harry stared after her, more confused than he had ever been in his life.

/\/\/\/\/\/\

_This place… it was dark, so dark he could hardly see. Then, out of the darkness, two eyes as green as his own glowed brightly. They stared at him, then a shadowy form sped past him. Harry followed instinctively, trying not get lost in whatever strange cavern he had found himself. He rounded a bend, and stark moonlight washed over him. He was at the mouth of the cave._

_The form stopped, turning toward him. He of medium height, and very thin. Atop his head was a helmet of bone with four spikes, two long and slender, like horns, and two others that flared behind his head like ears. His skin was paler than Harry's own, and from his eyes fell two streaks of a green so dark it was almost black. Enormous black wings stretched out behind him, contrasting with his pure-white robe and blending with his long black hair. In one hand he held a long white javelin._

"_Who are you?" Harry asked._

"_I?" The being stared piercingly at Harry. "You don't know? How…unobservant. I am *********."_

_Harry frowned. "I can't—"_

_The being turned away. "You cannot hear me. Pathetic." He turned his head to look at Harry, green eyes meeting green. "You are trash," he spat, then leapt into the air, gone in a flutter of black wings._

Harry woke up, breathing hard. He took several deep breaths, wondering what had just happened. That man… he was so familiar, but Harry couldn't place him. What was he? Harry was certain he wasn't just a dream.

/\/\/\/\/\/\

"Aren't you going to wake up?" Draco asked, prodding his shoulder. Harry sat up, rubbing his eyes.

"Why have you woken me at such an ungodly hour," he hissed, for once irritated. Draco stepped back, alarmed at the unusual display of anger, then smiled brightly and pointed at a heap of presents by the foot of his bed.

"It's Christmas!" he exclaimed, the went back to his bed and began to unravel a box decorated with green foil and a silver bow.

Harry looked at the foot of his own bed. To his surprise, it was a sizable amount. He picked up the first one and checked the tag.

**To: Harry Potter**

**From: Pansy Parkinson**

He frowned. Why had she sent him a present? A quick check of the other presents made it clear that many of them were from Slytherins, and a few from Ravenclaws.

Now he realized what it was. For whatever reason, they were trying to curry favor with him. His frown deepened. He wasn't looking forward to writing the thank-you notes that would be expected, as per Pureblood etiquette.

He made his way through the pile of gifts, noting that many of them were quite expensive. He admired a well-made dragon-leather wand holster from Marcus Flint and a tasteful emerald pendant from Daphne Greengrass, as well as an ever-ink quill from Draco made from the silver-white feathers of an occamy. He received several books as well, and he placed them on his nightstand to read later. Near the bottom of his pile, he found a letter from the Dursleys. He opened it.

_Dear Potter,_

_ Feel free not to come back for the summer._

_ Sincerely,_

_ Petunia and Vernon_

Along with the note were 200 pounds sterling. Harry raised an eyebrow, then set the money aside and lifted the last package off the floor.

It was light and soft, wrapped in plain brown paper. He undid the fastenings and took out what appeared to be a silvery cloak. Pinned to the cloak was a small note.

_Your father left this in my possession before he died. Use it well._

It was unsigned. Harry unfolded the cloak and ran his hands over it. It was smooth and almost slippery, more like water than cloth. He wrapped it around himself.

From the other bed, he heard a gasp. He turned to look.

"It—it's an invisibility cloak!" Draco exclaimed. Harry looked down and was amazed to see his body was completely transparent. He took it off immediately, then looked back at Draco.

"Don't tell," he said, and Draco nodded, grinning mischievously.

"But you'll have to let me borrow it sometime," he said, and Harry nodded reluctantly. That's the way it was in Slytherin: quid pro quo.

He put the cloak and the majority of his presents away, then sat at his desk and began to write his thank-yous.

/\/\/\/\/\/\

_He was there again—that dark, empty cave. He made his way to the mouth of the cave, crashing into the wall a few times before finally stumbling out. The being was already there, waiting for him_

"_Who are you?" Harry asked again. The being frowned._

"_You… you are still immature. Don't come back until you are ready, trash."_

The dream faded away, leaving Harry disappointed and all too awake, even if it was the middle of the night. He slipped into his shoes and took out his invisibility cloak, feeling the urge to wander. As he snuck out into the dungeons corridors, he decided to go to the library and try to find out if dreams such as his were normal.

He made his way to the fourth floor, where the library was located, but stopped as he felt something odd in a spare room nearby. He walked towards it, then peeked inside.

An enormous mirror took up a side of the room, gleaming quietly. He went inside, noticing the words engraved into the frame.

"I show not your face but your hearts desire?" he whispered softly after a moment of deciphering it. He drew nearer, sensing a great power in the mirror.

As he looked into the reflection, it began to change. He saw a blurred face in the distance, and a pale hand reaching towards him. It stirred strange emotions within him. Then the imaged shifted again, and the man from his dreams stared back at him, a hand pressed against his chest.

"Find her…" he mouthed. "Find her… she will show you… she will make you see that invisible thing… the heart." He clenched his hand closed over his sternum. "Then come back to me."

He disappeared, and the image was again of that outstretched hand. This time, the face was not blurred, and a name sprang to his lips.

"Inoue Orihime. I will find you."

/\/\/\/\/\/\

Harry flipped through the vast book of names. Every witch and wizard that ever lived was listed in the self-updating tome, and though there were many, many people within, there was no mention of a 'Inoue Orihime' or 'Orhime Inoue,' as English name order would have her. What was she then? A muggle?

The language of her name was Japanese, something told him, but that did not necessarily mean she lived in Japan. Harry narrowed his eyes in frustration. How was he supposed to find this girl?

He supposed he ought to learn Japanese, just in case. He would have to resume his search in the summer. Suppressing a sigh, he went to the languages section and searched for the books he would need. He made a mental note to brew a wit-sharpening potion for his studies.

/\/\/\/\/\/\

The rest of the year passed as a dull blur as Harry easily passed his classes. His Japanese studies seemed to be progressing almost too well; the language was as natural as flying to him, and it frustrated him when he 'reached' for a word and realized he hadn't learned it yet. He made few friends, although he occasionally spoke to Draco simply because the boy never stopped talking at him.

His teachers all seemed impressed with his performance; he was the top student of his year. Snape had eventually learned to ignore him and graded him with reluctant fairness—Harry had never handed him less than a perfect potion. Quirrel Harry kept an eye on, but the man never gave Harry a reason to interfere with whatever he was up to. He continued to 'feel' even more corrupt as the year went on, and Harry figured it wasn't long until the stress killed the man.

Flitwick seemed to think Harry took after his mother, but was quiet due to his upbringing. He often praised the boy, who did his best to ignore the short man. McGonagal was outwardly as strict and polite to him as she was to any other student, but Harry noticed that she would often shoot worried glances at him when she though no one was looking. Sprout simply treated him with the same cheerful fairness that she treated all of her students with. She seemed to appreciate his ability to do as he was told.

The Slytherins continued to act courteously around Harry, always calculating their moves. The Ravenclaws were anywhere from fearful to worshipful of him, but were mostly very respectful, and most of the Hufflepuffs stayed away from him in far-away fright or admiration. The Gryffindors disliked Harry, and some even hated him, bumping into him in the halls and whispering 'traitor' when he was around. A few seemed unsure about him, however.

Dumbledore had taken to watching him creepily at meals and inspecting his actions. It was uncomfortable, to say the least, and Harry felt obligated to act his best while under the man's piercing gaze.

Near the end of the year, Dumbledore told the student body that Professor Quirrel had 'decided to retire,' but Harry knew what had really happened. He had felt a massive confrontation the night before, and knew that the horrible spirit that had corrupted Quirrel was, in fact, Voldemort, whose distinctive aura Harry could still place, even after so many years. The spirit had passed through his room on its way out of the castle, his wraith-like form growling angrily at Harry before disappearing through the wall, leaving a lingering sense of hate and malice. Harry had caught only a glimpse of the dark soul, but he had the impression that he had been dangling rusted and blackened chains.

Soon enough it was the end of term, and as Harry packed to leave, he found himself wondering what he would do now. After all, he had no need of returning to the Dursleys.

He supposed he would search for Inoue Orihime in London, the spread his search from there.

He had a lot of work to do, if he was to find her.

/\/\/\/\/\/\


	2. Chapter 2

Harry plowed through the various phonebooks he had found, but to no avail. There were several 'Inoue's in London alone, but no 'Orihime's. He had already called the households, but still he couldn't find any trace of her anywhere in Great Britain.

He clenched his fist in frustration and flopped onto his bed at The Leaky Cauldron. Where could she be?

He turned over, then got up and began to pack. It was time to look elsewhere.

After putting all of his belongings into his trunk, he made his way down out of the pub before anyone could see him and raise a fuss. He lifted his wand into the cool, evening breeze, and was unalarmed when an enormous, triple-decker bus appeared out of nowhere. Flipping a galleon at the conductor, he boarded.

"Take me to Edinburgh," he said, and the driver nodded.

"Anywhere in particular?" he asked.

"A quiet hotel, muggle preferably," Harry replied, then grabbed a nearby pole as the bus lurched into movement.

/\/\/\/\/\/\

"Harry Potter, sir!" squeaked a little creature dressed in what appeared to be a pillow case. He tugged on his long, hairy ears and looked around nervously.

Harry stared at the creature who had suddenly appeared in his hotel room, wand at the ready. "Who are you?" he demanded.

"I is being the house-elf Dobby, sir! It is a great honor for Dobby to be in such a great wizard as Harry Potter's presence, sir!" it said, bowing until its nose nearly touched the floor.

Harry slowly lowered his wand. What was this house-elf trying to do? "Why are you here?"

"I has come to warn you!" the elf said, eyes wide and earnest. "Harry Potter must not return to Hogwarts!"

Harry narrowed his eyes at the house-elf. "Why?"

"Terrible things are to happen! Harry Potter would be in grave danger, grave danger indeed!"

Grave danger? If so, why would a house-elf be telling him this?

"What terrible things?"

Dobby opened his mouth to responded, then stifled himself with his own hands. "No! Bad Dobby! Dobby is not to tell master's secrets!" He grabbed a nearby book off Harry's nightstand and began to thrash himself over the head with it. "Bad Dobby! Bad Dobby!"

"Stop that," Harry commanded harshly, looking towards the door and hoping the hotel staff hadn't noticed. Dobby reluctantly obeyed, gazing at Harry with eyes full of tears.

"You see? Harry Potter mustn't return to Hogwarts. You must promise!"

Harry weighed his choices. There was no way he wasn't returning to Hogwarts—the building was filled with information he had not yet received. Yet, he wanted to get rid of this creature that was threatening his quiet search for Inoue Orihime. He made his decision.

"I won't go back," he said, concentrating on a different location in case the elf was tricking him into an oath. The elf smiled broadly, his ears wagging.

"Dobby is glad! Dobby must be going now!"

He disappeared with a _crack_.

/\/\/\/\/\/\

Harry made his way through King's Cross, not at all pleased with the way his holidays went. He had searched everywhere in the United Kingdom and surrounding countries, but could find no evidence of the person he was seeking, alive or dead. As he approached the brick wall that was the passageway to Platform 9 ¾, he heard a familiar _crack._

"You is breaking your promise!" the house-elf screeched, and then, before any muggles could notice him, he disappeared. Harry frowned, then proceeded to try and walk through to the platform. He crashed into solid, brick wall.

A few tourists turned around to look at him. Harry ignored them and sat down at a nearby bench, irate. The elf had blocked his passage.

The clock ticked ever closer to 11:00. A couple and their two sons approached the barrier and cleanly passed through. Harry stood up to try again, but was met with firm resistance. His frown deepened, and he briskly walked back outside into a secluded nook, then took our a bit of parchment and quill from his trunk. He neatly penned a quick note, then took his owl out of her cage. She glared sleepily at him, but took the note in her beak and flew off obediently.

It wasn't long until he heard footsteps approach him. He looked up, and the brilliantly twinkling eyes of the headmaster looked back at him.

"Hello there, my boy," he greeted jovially, holding out his arm. "Just grip my forearm tightly. We'll apparate to Hogmeade and walk to the castle from there."

Harry looked at his wrinkled arm in silent distaste, then reluctantly wrapped his fingers around it.

"Ready?" Dumbledore asked, and Harry nodded. And then…

It was like being pushed and pulled and compressed all at once, and Harry found it hard to take even the smallest of breaths. He 'pushed' the strange, elastic force away from him and found momentary relief from the tight discomfort, and then suddenly, it was all gone. He opened the eyes he didn't realize he had shut, then quickly let go of Dumbledore's arm. He looked around.

Hogsmeade village was a quaint little town; every cobblestone gleamed and every building stood in neat rows with hand-painted signs and little flower gardens in the front. It was the sort of town people liked to photograph for postcards that said 'Wish you were here!' and 'Missing you dearly, but having a great time!'. Clearly Dumbledore enjoyed the picturesque village; he smiled broadly at each robed passerby, waving to some and nodding to others. After a moment of seemingly soaking in the sun, he turned to Harry.

"Well, Mr. Potter, you usually wouldn't visit Hogsmeade until your third year, and I don't want to spoil the initial wonder of this truly fantastic little place, so let's be on our way!" He ushered Harry towards a row of pristinely white carriages hooked to pairs of odd, dark, skeletal horses. Harry stared at them as they entered a carriage, and the horses stared back with their milky-white eyes, fluttering their wings anxiously.

"What are they?" Harry asked, leaning forward in his seat to get a better look. Dumbledore's eyes flicked to the bat-like creatures, then refocused on Harry. He frowned ever-so-slightly.

"They are thestrals," he said solemnly. "Often mistaken for dark creatures, not only because of their rather eerie appearance, but because, in order to see them, you need to have witnessed death. Not many your age can see them, Mr. Potter."

There was a long moment of awkward silence. Then Dumbledore smiled and said, 'But! They are very sweet creatures, in reality. They have a truly magnificent sense of direction, and a keen intellect. I often ride them on long trips when I don't feel like apparating or using a broomstick."

Harry nodded, then looked out the window at the passing trees. The Forbidden Forest… he wondered what strange things lurked within its shadows. He wondered if he could…

"It's a dangerous place, the Forbidden Forest," Dumbledore said, interrupting his thoughts. "Just last year, something was going around and killing the unicorns." Dumbledore shook his head. "Only something without anything to lose, without morals or heart, could kill a unicorn. They are the purest of creatures—they harm nothing, and nothing but the worst, the most vile and evil, harm them." He sighed. "But alas! The culprit fled before he could be brought to justice. How sad."

Harry didn't bother to look at Dumbledore. _Without morals or heart…_

An image flashed inside his head of himself, a dark hole where his heart should be, gazing unseeingly into the distance. He blinked, and the vision vanished.

_Without morals or heart…_

/\/\/\/\/\/\

_He was there again… the cave in his dreams. Just as he had before, Harry stumbled to the cave's mouth, and there he was again, the pale and bat-like man that so often haunted his thoughts._

"_You haven't found her," he whispered, walking towards Harry. "I should have realized… trash like you require more guidance." He stopped a foot away from Harry, staring down at him with cool green eyes. Then he put one hand up to his face and dug into his eye socket, pulling out an eyeball. He held it up, its vibrant green glistening in the moonlight. Then he crushed it, and as though it were made of glass, it crumbled into tiny pieces that floated toward Harry._

_Images flooded Harry's mind, one after the other, of some strange, far-away town with signs in a half-familiar language, a forked river, a forest, a boy with vivid orange hair and furious brown eyes, and her again, Inoue Orihime, smiling as though the world were her plaything, and she was having the time of her life. Little flashes of places and people he had never seen, but somehow knew, somehow needed to know. Then the torrent of memories slowed, and everything was shadows again._

"_Find her…" he heard the man whisper, and the dream faded away into deep sleep._

/\/\/\/\/\/\

Harry resisted glaring at the blonde, idiot of a man prancing about in the front of the classroom. Instead, he kept his face neutral as he answered the beyond brainless quiz the man had handed out. The books the man had written could only convey so much of Lockhart's utter narcissism—the winking portraits on the wall could only intensify Harry's irritation—but why did the man waste his time with quizzes on what his favorite type of shampoo was? It grated on Harry's nerves like nothing else ever had.

He handed in the completed exam, then gathered his bookbag and walked out. He would not receive lessons from trash.

"Wait! Mr. Potter! You'll miss the pixies…" Lockhart gazed after Harry's retreating back, looking confused. He glanced through the quiz in his hands. "And he got everything right, too. What a shame." The wizard sighed and wrote an elaborate 'O' on the top of the paper. "Oh well," he said, and smiled his award-winning smile at the class.

/\/\/\/\/\/\

"Stay after class, Mr. Potter," Snape commanded, not looking up from the papers he was grading. Harry nodded and waited patiently as the rest of his class packed up and left the classroom. As the last student let the door slam shut, Snape looked up.

"Is there a reason you have not been attending your Defense Against the Dark Arts classes, Mr. Potter?" the man asked coolly.

"I will not take classes from trash, sir," Harry replied. The corner of Snape's mouth twitched involuntarily.

"I see." He looked at Harry with dark, calculating eyes. "Then you will be serving detentions with me for the rest of the term. Come to me when you would usually go to your Defense class."

Harry nodded, expressionless.

_Later…_

Harry knocked on the door of the potions classroom. It echoed loudly in the dark halls of the dungeons.

"Enter," called Snape's smooth voice, and Harry pushed the door open, slipping inside.

Snape sat behind his desk, a pile of old, well-read books in front of him. He beckoned for Harry to come closer.

"Choose a book, and then read it entirely. I expect a summary of what you have learned by your next detention. You will choose five spells from the book to perform at that time, and then you will move on to the next book."

Intrigued, Harry drew closer to the tomes, reading their titles to himself. "_The Allure of Poison: How to Recognize and Avoid the Dark Arts"_,_ "Practical Defense—Quick Spells to Deter Your Foes"_,and_ "In the Dark of Night: What to Know for Your Protection"_, as well as many others. Harry took one called, _"Anticipating the Next Move, Dueling and Beyond,"_ then nodded at Snape and sat at a desk to begin to read

Harry quickly devoured the book, soaking in the diagrams of muscle and facial cues, spells to heighten sense of hearing and sight, and counter-hex upon counter-hex for every area of offensive magic. It wasn't long until the bell rang, signaling the end of the class. Harry stood up and looked at Snape.

"You may leave," he said, and Harry nodded. He memorized his page number and put the book into his bag, then left, closing the door behind him. His footsteps echoed through the corridors.

_Hunger… kill, must kill… fresh meat… death…_

What was that? Harry looked around, but the hall was empty of anyone but himself. He could feel something definitely not human near him… in the wall? It was travelling away from him.

_So hungry… want meat… fresh meat… warm blood…_

The voice was getting faint.

_Master calls… master calls… must go to master…_

Harry heard a faint, dry, rasping sound, and the not-human started moving down and away. How was it going down? As far as Harry knew, the dungeons were the lowest one could go in the castle. Suddenly, the snake completely disappeared from Harry's senses. He frowned. It wasn't death—Harry knew what death felt like, and this was too fast, too artificial.

He stayed still for a moment, in case the not-human came back, but he felt nothing but the energy of students above and the quiet stillness of Snape somewhere behind him. Then he began to walk back to the Slytherin dormitories, pondering over what the strange creature with the hissing voice could be.

/\/\/\/\/\/\

Harry left the greenhouse where his Herbology class met, idly scraping his nails clean with a sharp stick. He glanced toward the Forbidden Forest, as he always did, fascinated by its unknown depths. He slowed his walking considerably, and Draco, who had been walking beside him, looked back at him.

"You go on," Harry told him, and Draco nodded, speeding up to catch up to Theo. After looking around to make sure no one was looking at him, Harry drifted toward the trees. As he reached the edge of the forest, he ducked behind the first tree, putting a palm on its rough bark.

The forest smelled odd, like decaying plant matter and the aromatic foliage of many wild herbs, magical and not. He stared as a vine crept up a nearby tree trunk. Its tiny red blooms darted out to catch a passing ant, and using its deceptively delicate-looking petals to crunch it up, it swallowed.

Something tickled on his hand. He looked, and his eyes widened in surprise as a tiny garden sprite fluttered near his fingers, its miniscule hands reaching out to touch his warm flesh. It turned around, noticing his gaze, and made a tiny squeak before whizzing away.

Harry slowly made his way into the forest, making sure he knew the direction in which he had come. He drank in the forest life around him, fascinated by the many creatures and plants his wizard-born friends found dull and ordinary.

Harry felt something familiar approach him, a thestral, if Dumbledore was to be believed. It peeked its head through the dense foliage, its white eyes wide and curious. Harry slowly, carefully, moved toward it, and it did not run away. Instead, it came closer, butting its head against Harry's outstretched hand. He petted it, frowning slightly as he felt each bone jutting out of its body.

"What do they feed you, creature? You look starved…"

Someone else was coming. Harry darted away behind a bush, watching as the enormous gamekeeper neared the thestral. He moved through the woods with surprising quietness, for a man his size.

"Why hello there, young 'un!" For a moment, Harry thought he had been discovered, but the man clearly had his back turned to him. "Yer a bit aways from the rest o' the 'erd, no? Come on then, there's still some meat left for you."

The two of them left, and Harry frowned, disappointed. He waited until he could no longer hear them, then began to go back to the castle.

/\/\/\/\/\/\

Harry browsed the shelves of the creature section in the Library, looking for something on thestrals. He found a promising book and pulled it out.

Someone was humming in the other aisle. Harry took the book and looked around the bookshelf. A small girl sat on the floor, swaying her head from side to side, reading a colorful book on rare magical creatures. The book, oddly enough, was upside-down.

The girl looked up, staring at Harry with wide blue eyes. "Hi there," she greeted him. "What's your name?"

"Harry Potter," he replied, wondering if she was muggleborn. How was it that she didn't know his name?

"Of course, I already knew that," she said as though answering him. "But it's polite to ask, don't you think? I'm Luna Lovegood."

Harry inspected Luna. She was tiny, probably a first-year, with long, blond hair and very pale skin. Her robes were slightly too big, and made her seem even smaller than she was. From her ears hung two goldfish-shaped earrings, and she carried her wand behind her ear. Her expression was slightly vacant, but Harry suspected there was something more about her. She felt… odd, muffled, almost, but also strangely refreshing.

He noticed something else, too. "Why are you barefoot?" he asked.

"I'm not really barefoot, you know," she replied. "I have socks on."

"Why aren't you wearing shoes, then?" Harry rephrased.

She shrugged, smiling. "Oh, I suppose someone must have taken them. But I don't mind; they aren't my favorites. Those are still at home."

"Someone… took them?"

She nodded. "Yes. My roommates don't seem to like me very much, but that's okay. I always find what they take a few days later."

"It's getting cold," he reminded her. She laughed.

"There are warming charms, silly! Besides, I'll find them before the first snow." She sounded very certain.

Harry raised an eyebrow. "And why are you reading that upside-down?"

Luna looked at him like he was crazy. "It's the best way to read! You find the most interesting things." She smiled. "For example, I read here that there's a type of creature in Japan that eats souls. According to the legend, they don't have hearts, so they eat souls to fill up the empty feeling inside. But they've never been caught."

Harry stared at her. "A creature with no heart?"

Luna nodded. "Only a hole." She touched her chest, then her face, saying, "And a mask, to hide their emotions and identity."

She stood and put the book back on the shelf. "I'm rather hungry, aren't you? I think I'll go to the Great Hall now." She waved goodbye and walked out the aisle.

Harry watched her go, then went over to the book she was reading. He flipped through it, but there was no mention of heartless, masked creatures.

/\/\/\/\/\/\

Harry crept out onto the Hogwarts lawn, invisibility cloak wrapped tightly around him, quickly making his way toward the forest. The grounds were deserted; everyone was at the Hallowe'en feast. He entered the thick woods, going in a little ways before taking off his bag and setting it on the forest floor. He opened it and, donning his dragon-hide gloves, removed the slab of raw flesh from within. He placed it on the ground, then put his gloves back into his bag.

Finding the kitchens had been a mostly coincidental occurrence; he just happened to be by the painting that marked its entrance (hidden by the mysterious cloak he had received the year before) when two red-headed boys passed by and tickled the pair on the painting. He followed them inside, and was amazed by what he found. Hogwarts' house-elves, unlike the one he met earlier that year, were helpful and over-eager creatures. When he asked for raw meat, it was nearly thrust into his hands still warm and bloody. Nevertheless, it was very convenient to have a source of food as a resource for luring the thestral back.

He knew the raw flesh could attract other creatures, too, but he wasn't too far from the castle. If it was something he couldn't handle, he was sure he could escape.

He could feel the thestral approaching now. It poked its head between two trees and stared at Harry, then came closer and sniffed at the meat. Still keeping an eye on him, it began to eat, tearing at the flesh with powerful, sharp-edged teeth. It quickly devoured the piece of raw lamb, then neared Harry. Harry held out a hand, and the thestral butted up against it, smearing blood on his palm. He frowned in distaste, but held still as the thestral sniffed him. It licked the blood off his hand with a dry, scratchy tongue, then lowered his head slightly, guiding Harry's hand to his mane.

Harry stroked the creature's dark, somewhat brittle mane, amazed by the power he felt under his fingers. Thestrals looked frail and fragile, but according to the book he had read, they could fly for hundreds, even thousands, of miles without exhausting themselves.

The thestral withdrew and started to walk away. It looked back at Harry as though saying, 'Are you coming?'. Harry followed without a word, and the thestral led him to a large, open clearing. It sped up, then launched itself into the air. Harry, too, leapt up, using the strange ability he had discovered the year before. He soon was at the same height as the thestral, which was gliding above the treetops in lazy circles. It looked at Harry, its eyes gleaming in the moonlight, and then touched its nose to Harry's hair, then darted away. When Harry failed to give a chase, it again looked back.

"Tag?" Harry murmured, then started to run after the thestral. It whinnied happily and began to fly toward the lake.

Harry slowly gained on the strange, bat-horse creature. Forcing himself to move even more quickly, he managed to touch the thestral's rump. It whinnied again, and turned around. The tables were turned, and Harry sped away from the now 'it' creature.

_What am I doing?_ Harry thought to himself as he raced over the forest. _Playing with a beast?_ He decided that, at the very least, it exercised his 'floating' ability. He continued to take part in the thestral's game until he could hardly keep himself in the air. He patted the thestral's nose as a farewell and lowered himself to the ground, then snuck back into the castle.

/\/\/\/\/\/\

"Where were you last night? You missed everything!"

Harry looked up from his breakfast. Draco, Blaise, and Theo, as well Gregory and Vincent, were looking at him expectantly.

"I was reading in the Library," he lied, and the others seemed to accept this. "What do you mean, I missed everything?"

"Someone petrified Filch's cat yesterday," Draco said excitedly. His eyes shone. "They left a message on the wall behind it: 'The Chamber of Secrets Has Been Opened. Enemies of the Heir, Beware."

"It looked like it was written in blood," Blaise added, and the others nodded.

"Enemies of the Heir means mudbloods, of course," Nott said, smirking. "They'll be next, for sure."

"Father said that the last time the Chamber was opened was fifty years ago. A mudblood girl was killed, and they almost shut down the school," Draco informed them.

"What's the Chamber of Secrets?" asked Vincent, staring wide-eyed at the other boys. Draco sneered at him.

"It's a secret chamber Salazar Slytherin made before he left Hogwarts. The Heir is clearly the Heir of Slytherin."

"Is it you?" Gregory asked, shoving a pancake into his mouth.

"No, it's not me, and if it were, would I really tell you?" Draco replied scathingly. "Honestly, you two are idiots."

Harry thought over the information he had just absorbed. A secret chamber… a heir… a petrified cat. How did this all tie together? Was this what the house-elf had meant when it warned him of 'terrible things'? And if so, how was it connected? And did it have anything to do with the strange, hissing, disembodied voice he had heard yesterday as he reentered the castle? It had spoken of failed kill…

But did it really matter? After all, Harry was not a muggleborn. But that odd house-elf had said that Harry, specifically, was in danger.

He would research these strange events, just in case.

/\/\/\/\/\/\

Harry ran his fingers over the dusty spines of the books in the Library. He was again in the creature section, but this time, he was looking for a different sort of creature. The being in the wall had not been human, nor humanoid. It had felt long, like a worm or snake, and its voice was sibilant and spoke of eating flesh.

A brightly colored book caught his eye. It was the same one the girl, Luna, had been reading. He pulled it out on a whim and turned to the page he remembered her being on.

_BASILISK: THE KING OF THE SERPENTS _read the title.

_The Basilisk, the largest of all serpents, magical and mundane, is a dangerous but fascinating creature. It can grow to lengths of over fifty feet, and its skin is resistant to all manner of curses. To look into the eyes of the Basilisk is to die instantaneously, and to be bitten by it is to die in agony as its searing venom liquefies you from within, leaving your heart and brain for last and prolonging your release from pain until the last moment._

_The Basilisk is not a creature of nature; it is created by hatching the egg of a chicken beneath the belly of a toad. What makes the Basilisk dangerous to create, however, is that it can only be controlled by the Parselmouth, he who speaks parseltongue, the language of serpents. Any other master is insufficient; no other form of control will ensnare the mind of the Basilisk._

_The slaying of a Basilisk is a near-impossible feat, one rarely accomplished by a force fifty-strong. The scales will protect it from all but the vilest of spells, and it will kill mercilessly, both with eyes and fangs. One should strike at the eyes or mouth, or better, flee, for even a mirror will not save you completely from its deadly gaze; you will become like stone._

Harry knew at once that he had found the mysterious attacker. Everything fit as perfectly; after all, the Slytherin symbol was a snake, and even a fifty-foot snake would be able to traverse the pipes with ease. And yet, he had heard the basilisk speak—was he one of these 'parselmouths'? And if so, why, and how?

It seemed that every answer spawned a thousand new questions.

/\/\/\/\/\/\

"Why do you insist on dragging me to see these games? You realize I have no interest in them."

Draco shook his head pityingly at Harry. "One day, you'll realize just how awesome Quidditch is, and then you'll thank me."

"I doubt that." Harry tried to ignore the uncomfortable crowding and loudness in the stands, but it was futile. He resigned himself to watching the players whizz about the field, tossing the Quaffel back and forth amongst them. Slytherin made a shot, and another.

"YEAH! GO SLYTHERIN! TAKE THAT, YOU GRIFFINDORKS! WOOO!" Draco was jumping up and down, screaming as loudly as the rest of the stadium, his green and silver scarf fluttering around him. Harry grimaced at his uncharacteristically unrestrained behavior.

"Trash," he muttered.

"And he hits the bludger toward the seeker! But what is it doing? It seems to have a mind of its own!" cried out the commentator. Harry looked up. The black ball, the bludger, was spinning around in mad circles. Finally, it seemed to choose a direction—right towards him—and it wasn't stopping. Harry dove out of the way just as it embedded itself into the seat he was just in. It shook itself out of the wooden seat, shedding splinters as it did, then flew towards him. Harry ran toward the exit.

People were fleeing from the stands and away from him as the bludger followed him down, occasionally smashing into the place he had been a second before.

"Impedimenta!" Harry cried, hitting the bludger dead-on. The spell did nothing; bludgers were designed to not be tampered with (despite the tampering that was clearly already happening). Harry jumped to the side as it hurled into the stands yet again. He ran for the floor of the stadium, where the exits were located.

The beaters for Slytherin finally shook themselves out of their stupor. They swooped down and tried hit the ball away, but they could only slow it slightly as it continued to struggle towards Harry. Harry made it to the bottom of the stadium stairs, but he felt a small hand wrap around his ankle. He felt something familiar and saw a pair of huge, bright eyes and a glimpse of a grey pillowcase before planting face-first into the ground. He quickly rolled onto his back.

The bludger was right above him. He rolled to one side, then the other, as it attempted to kill (or at least brutally mangle) him. Then some sort of spell hit him, making him lose control of arms and legs. He could only watch, horrified, as the bludger shattered his kneecaps, one after the other, and he bit his lip until it bled to avoid crying out. A teacher (Snape, by the feeling) shouted some obsure spell and the bludger exploded, sending bits of whatever it was made of flying in all directions. Harry felt a piece cut into his cheek before he finally blacked out.

/\/\/\/\/\/\

"_Pathetic."_

_Harry opened his eyes. This time, he was already at the cave's entrance, lying flat on his back on the rocky ledge. He was startlingly near the edge of the cliff; the cave went into the side of a mountain, and clouds blocked the view of the land many thousands of feet below. He sat up and backed away from the ledge._

"_Pathetic," the voice repeated. Harry looked up. It was him again, the nameless winged being. He stood at the very edge of the cliff, his wings outstretched as he gazed up at the crescent moon. "Defeated by a creature so low, it dares not even think of freedom." The being whirled around, fixing him with his bright green stare. "How is it that _you_ deserve my blade? How can you call yourself worthy?"_

_Harry was silent, and the being turned away again._

"_Maybe once you find the woman…but no, you should already have the strength." The being snapped his fingers, and a pale creature fluttered out of the cave._

_At first, Harry thought it was an enormous moth; it was pure white, and winged, bleached further by the moonlight. Then he realized what it really was: a bat. But it was no normal bat; a skull-like and horned mask fit over its head and face like a helmet, and a dark hole existed in its chest. Its eyes were black where they should have been white, and irises like molten gold glinted cruelly though the slits in the mask._

_Then it changed, its wings becoming bone-thin arms, its head becoming small and human, and its furry body elongating and becoming the painfully skinny torso and legs of a pure white boy. Harry stared at his face—it was Harry's own, younger but grotesquely gaunt, cheekbones jutting out and eyes sunken. White hair spilled over his forehead, not quite covering a scar that wept blood down the side of his nose and dripped off of his chin, falling onto the rags that clothed him. The rags were torn and filthy, and they hung off his frame, clearly far too large. The neck hung down halfway to his stomach, and Harry could again see the empty place where his heart should be._

_Without moral or heart…_

_The child smiled widely, gaps in his teeth where they had rotten away, his black and yellow eyes narrowing. It was a display of anything but happiness. Harry shivered, unnerved._

"_Prepare yourself." The winged being's voice jerked him out of his thoughts. "He will not be merciful." _

"_What is he?" Harry whispered. _

"_He is a Hollow, a heartless soul. He is a manifestation of hate, of grief, of despair, of shame, of anger. He does not love, nor feel anything but bitter emotions. Most of all, he is a part of _you_." The being's eyes glinted. "Or perhaps, you are a part of him. We shall see."_

_The child's grin widened impossibly. Harry noticed how long and sharp his incisors were, almost like fangs. It leapt towards him, hands twisted into claws, eyes murderous, and—_

Harry woke up, his heart racing. He gasped for breath, almost panicking before he realized where he was. It was the infirmary. He had been injured. His legs…

There was someone in the room with him.

Harry snatched his wand off the nightstand, then softly whispered, "Lumos". The wandlight glimmered off two enormous, green eyes.

"Harry Potter broke his promise!" the house-elf moaned, tears running down his cheeks. "Harry Potter has returned to Hogwarts. You should have listened, sir. Harry Potter should have heeded Dobby's warning!"

"Why should I have? I cannot be sure if you are truly friend, not foe." Harry glanced at the door that lead to Madam Pomfrey's quarters. "By your actions so far, I would say foe. You blocked me from the Platform and now you've broken my bones."

"It is only for your own good, sir! Dobby is hoping that if Harry Potter is sent home, he will be safe! You is not understanding, sir. You must be going home! Already, the Chamber has been opened, and—" Dobby stopped suddenly, his eyes widening in horror. "Dobby has said too much! Bad Dobby!" He smacked himself across the face with his own hand, leaving a red mark and making his eyes water even more.

"I've heard about the Chamber," Harry said, eyes narrowed. "What do know?"

"Dobby can say no more! And Dobby would not say more! Harry Potter must not get involved with these dangerous things!"

"If, as you claim, I am being targeted, then shouldn't I be informed?" Harry asked. The house-elf shook his head and tugged on his ears miserably.

"It would be best if Harry Potter would listen to Dobby and go home! Then he would be safe from the horrors that surely await him!"

"Why are you even trying to help me?" Harry said. _If you could call it help._

"Harry Potter does not understand how it is to be a house-elf! When He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named reigned freely, we house-elves were treated worse than flobberworms destined for a potion! And although Dobby is still treated terribly, sir, my brethren can tell you that when you made He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named fall, their lives improved most dramatically! And Dobby cannot let the savior of the house-elves become prey for—" He froze, and Harry both heard and felt people outside in the corridor.

"Dobby must go now! Dobby implores you to leave Hogwarts, sir, please!" And with a loud _crack,_ he disappeared.

Harry lay back in the bed, putting his wand back on the nightstand. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, pretending to sleep, as he felt for the people entering the infirmary. It was the Headmaster, and McGonagal, as well as something else, barely there and oddly still. Harry recognized it as a boy who had attempted to photograph Harry at the beginning of the year, only to stop when Harry threatened to curse the camera to pieces if he continued.

He listened to the professors and Madam Pomfrey exclaim over the boy's rigid body, analyzing their every word. It seemed that the boy was another victim of the 'mysterious attacker', the basilisk.

"The question is not who, but how…"

It sounded as though Dumbledore already knew who the attacker, the one who controlled the basilisk, was. What was the Headmaster hiding, and why? Who was the attacker?

The 'dream' from earlier slipped from his thoughts as he tried to solve the puzzle that was the Chamber of Secrets.

/\/\/\/\/\/\

Invisibility was a useful thing, Harry though as he snuck into the Forest yet again. He removed the shrunken bag of meat from his pocket and enlarged it, opening the top part and letting the contents land with a _squish_ on the leafy forest floor. He had included several types of meat this time; he wanted to see which the thestral preferred.

A clump of bushes rustled and the thestral emerged. It made a beeline towards the raw flesh, sniffing eagerly and finally choosing a chunk of goat. It tore into it, little flecks of blood flying in all directions. Harry grimaced as a droplet landed on his cheek. Disgusted, he wiped it off, but mentally noted the thestral's preference.

The thestral finished, then moved on to the other hunks of meat, eating them all before looking at Harry. It went up to him, nuzzling him. Harry patted it, trying not to breath in its moist, blood-scented breath.

"I'm looking for a snake," Harry told it quietly. The books he had read claimed that thestrals could often understand human speech. "Do you know where I can find one?"

The thestral cocked its head to the side, then turned toward the center of the forest, sniffing at the ground. Harry followed, picking his way through the roots and branches that littered the forest floor. They walked a few hundred feet, and then the thestral stopped and nudged a clump of piled branches. A snake slithered out, hissing.

_{Why do you disturb me in my time of slumber, creature of the night skies?}_

Harry raised an eyebrow. His theory was correct.

The thestral whinnied softly. The snake turned to Harry.

_{What does a human want with me? I am but a low creature, crawling on my belly,} _it said, a touch of sarcasm in its voice.

Harry inspected the snake. It was about two and a half feet long, He couldn't tell what color it was in the almost-dark, but it had a zigzag patter down its back and its scales glimmered in what little light there was.

_{I wish only to speak.}_ Harry replied, not surprised as he listened to the soft, sibilant sounds that escaped his mouth instead of English.

_{To speak, he says,}_ the snake hissed scornfully. _{The Cold is nearly here, and he wishes to speak!}_

_{I apologize,} _Harry said.

_{Not accepted. Tell me, human, do you realize the dangers of the Cold?} _The snake slithered closer, lifting its head off the ground to gaze up at Harry. Harry was silent. _{Of course you don't. You are human, standing above us who must live in constant hunger, forever fleeing the shadow of death that follows us wherever we go. You do not understand the struggle that is to be animal, to strike at prey and run from predator.}_

A vision struck hard, and suddenly Harry was somewhere else. He was sinking his teeth into the limp body of a lizard, feeling energy in the metallic taste of blood, but still hungering, still ravenously searching the sands for his next victims, for the next to have his claws sunk into their thrashing bodies, taking their lives to add to his own.

Harry blinked, and he was in the forest again, on his hands and knees, heart palpitating rapidly, breath coming in gasps.

The adder, close enough now that it could strike his face in a flash, watched him silently as he regained control of himself.

_{Perhaps you understand more than I realized. You are intriguing, human.} _It slid even closer, raising itself so that it could flick Harry's cheek with the end of its tongue. _{Take me to your stone nest. I wish to observe you, human who knows the life of a beast.}_

Harry nodded slowly. He offered his arm to the viper, and it snaked up his sleeve and coiled loosely around his neck. Harry got to his feet, dusting off his robes.

The thestral nudged his arm. Harry looked at it, then at the darkening skies.

"Just for a little while, okay?" he said, and the thestral whickered, then stepped away and launched itself into the sky. Harry followed, and the snake around his neck hissed wildly, coiling more tightly around his neck.

_{Why are we flying?! Neither you or I is a creature of the sky!}_

The thestral neighed loudly, and Harry had the impression that it was laughing.

/\/\/\/\/\/\

"Did you hear? There's going to be a dueling club!"

Harry looked at Draco, a neutral expression on his face. Draco gleamed with excitement.

"Who is running it?"

"The notice didn't say, but I'm definitely going! Are you?"

"No." Harry had better things to do than fight in the mockery of a battle amongst his peers. Duels were rule-bound things, and highly ritualized. He had no time for such frivolities.

Draco frowned. "It's a _dueling_ club," he persuaded. Harry remained silent, and Draco huffed. "Well, _I'm_ going."

_Later_

Harry looked up as Draco entered their shared room. The blonde looked positively gleeful.

"Well, you wouldn't have liked it; Lockhart was running the club, although Professor Snape was there, too. I got to fight Weasel-head, though! You should have seen him, it was pathetic!"

Harry went back to the book he was reading for Snape's detentions. "I'm sure," he muttered, tuning out Draco's excited ramblings. Suddenly, the boy stopped.

"Harry…there's an adder on your pillow."

Harry looked over at it. It raised its head slightly, realizing it was being spoken about. "Indeed there is."

Draco looked at him incredulously. "Adders are poisonous."

"It will not bite me." Harry stretched out a hand to the snake. Draco flinched as it glided up Harry's arm and settled around his neck.

_{I will bite you if you crush me,}_ the adder hissed into his ear.

Harry did not reply, but stroked the snakes scales in acknowledgement. Draco shook his head, muttering, "You're insane."

/\/\/\/\/\/\

"There's been another attack!" Blaise exclaimed at breakfast. The entire Great Hall was abuzz with gossip.

"Another mudblood," Theo said snidely, a wide smirk on his face. "Good riddance."

Draco smirked. "I agree."

Blaise laughed. "Ever since that first-year was attacked, people will buy anything for 'protection'. I sold powdered owl droppings mixed with glitter for three galleons. Unicorn dust, indeed!"

Daphne Greengrass leaned into their conversation. "I heard a ghost was attacked, too. What on earth can attack a ghost?"

Draco shrugged. "Who cares? It's not attacking purebloods."

"I guess," Daphne said, not sounding convinced.

"The real question is who's the one behind the attacks," Blaise said, and the group nodded.

/\/\/\/\/\/\

Harry walked towards the Forest, as always hidden under his cloak. He passed by the groundkeeper's hut, but stopped. He heard something odd…a struggle by the chicken coop. He crept closer.

A tiny girl with flaming red hair was holding a rooster in her hands, holding it away from her as it squawked and scratched at her. She grabbed at its throat. There was a _snap_ and the rooster slowly stopped struggling, finally hanging limply in her grip. The girl grinned, a creepy, empty smile that made Harry want to step back. She let the rooster fall and began to walk back to the castle. Frowning, Harry followed her.

The girl…she felt wrong. Dirty, contaminated, as though something had invaded her soul and tainted her. Harry instinctively wanted to recoil from her, but he continued to trail her back into the castle, up a flight of stairs and towards a girl's bathroom. She slipped inside, and Harry hesitated for a split-second before entering after her.

The girl stopped and turned around, as though she had heard something. After a moment, she scowled and turned toward the sinks, walking to a particular tap.

_{Open,}_ she hissed, and Harry watched, surprised, as the sink began to spin and descend into the tiled floor, leaving only a deep hole. The girl dropped inside, and the sink rose up again. Soon, there was no evidence of anything strange having ever happened.

/\/\/\/\/\/\

Harry subtly kept a watch on the girl. As the weeks went on, she became paler and seemed to weaken. Dark circles appeared under her eyes and she grew thinner by the day. Harry suspected that something was controlling her against her will, and she continued to feel dark and unclean, until one day in early February. Even then, though, she was still slightly tainted. It wasn't long until whatever had controlled her had her in its clutches again, and her condition continued to deteriorate. Still, Harry found no need to interfere…yet.

/\/\/\/\/\/\

"They're going to close the school…" Blaise murmured as the students of Slytherin crowded into their common room.

"Someone's been taken into the Chamber…" someone else whispered.

"But they can't close Hogwarts!"

"They have to…its too dangerous…"

Harry listened, mind racing. If Hogwarts were to close, he'd lose five years worth of education and access to the largest magical library in Europe. It was unacceptable. And so, because it seemed he was the only one who knew how to find the Chamber, it was unfortunately up to him to rescue the girl…anonymously of course, because there were questions that others would no doubt ask that he did not want to answer.

In the commotion, he went unnoticed through the crowd and successfully managed to slip out of the common rooms without anyone noticing. He made his way up to the second floor and into the girls' bathrooms. Someone was sobbing inside. Harry whirled around, pinpointing the location: a nearby stall.

"Who's there?" the sobbing voice called. "Someone coming to make fun of me? Pimply, ugly, moping Myrtle." A transparent figure floated out of the stall, hands over her face. She peeked through her fingers at Harry. "You—you're a boy! What are you doing here?"

Harry stared at her. Hanging off her see-through body were solid chains that lead back to the toilet she had come out of. They rattled slightly as she moved closer to him, but remained long enough for her to move with ease. She appeared not to notice them.

"You shouldn't be in here," she said angrily, hands on her hips. Harry looked at her for a moment longer, then turned away. She was just a ghost. "Hey! I'm talking to you!"

Harry ignored her, moving towards the sink that the girl from before had opened. He looked at the tap. A small snake was engraved into it, shimmering in the candlelit bathroom.

He had experimented with speaking parseltongue. He knew what he had to do. Imagining that he was speaking to a real snake, he hissed, _{Open.}_

The sink obediently shifted, sinking smoothly into the floor. Harry looked at the dark tunnel with distaste. Using his 'flying' abilities, he lowered himself in, taking care not to touch the filthy walls of the tunnel. He landed with an oddly wet _crunch._ Harry looked down. The floor was damp and littered with the remains of countless small creatures.

Harry spread out his senses. The Chamber was incredibly deep underground; he could barely feel his classmates and their collective anxious energy. Far more nearby, he felt the faintest spark of life that was the girl, and something that bubbled with a strangely familiar, dark, unclean energy. Beyond them was the creature in the walls, the Basilisk.

Harry carefully walked through the winding tunnel that lead towards the girl and spirit. He stopped in front of an enormous snakeskin, around thirty feet in length and acid green. He frowned, then continued on.

It was a long, damp and twisting corridor that ended in an ornate door carved with twin serpents. Their eyes glistened in the dim torchlight.

_{Open.}_

Harry passed through, glancing around the long, tall chamber he had found himself in. He could feel the spirit and the girl at the other end. The girl's energy was rapidly fading. Harry quickened his pace; it wouldn't do to have her die and have the school closed anyway.

He held his wand firmly in his hand, on alert as he neared the room's other occupants. He could see an enormous statue ahead, presumably of Slytherin. At its feet was a shock of red: the girl's hair. Harry slowly neared, searching for the spirit. The feeling of familiarity was intense; Harry knew he had felt the spirit before.

There he was, partially hidden by a stone pillar. The two locked gazes, and the spirit smirked and stepped into the torchlight. He was a handsome boy of around sixteen, with dark hair and pale skin. A strand of energy connected him with the girl on the floor. A blackened, rusted chain lead to a small book lying on the floor. The book had another badly damaged chain that snaked off into the distance.

"Not interested in the girl? How boring."

Harry glanced at the limp child. "She's not important to me," he said.

The spirit raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Then why bother to come here?" he asked, seemingly genuinely curious. Harry could feel that he, in truth, did not care in the slightest. He didn't bother to answer the question.

Harry inspected that strand that was connecting the two. "You're taking her energy and using it to fuel your own. You're…devouring her."

The spirit laughed, a chilling sound. "An apt metaphor. You know more that I expected….Harry Potter."

Harry frowned at the spirit. "It seems you know who I am, but who are you?" He glanced at the chains again. "Or perhaps better said, what are you?"

The spirit smirked. "I? I was born Tom Marvolo Riddle. But people know me by another name, these days."

The sense of familiarity rushed through Harry again. This time, he grasped the elusive memory.

"You're Voldemort." Harry frowned again. "But you are a separate entity. You are him, and yet, you aren't. How is that…possible?"

Riddle's eyes widened. Harry continued.

"You are definitely a spirit—but there is something wrong with you. You aren't complete, a shard of the whole, as though…he fractured his soul." Harry gazed intensely at Riddle. "You are a soul fragment."

What little color Riddle had had, it was gone. He stared at Harry in shock.

"You…" He snapped out of his daze. "You know too much," he said calmly. "You need to die." He turned to the enormous statue. _[Speak to me, Slytherin, greatest of the Hogwarts Four.}_

There was a sound of grinding stone. Harry closed his eyes, backing away and 'feeling' for the basilisk that was emerging from the statue's mouth. Riddle laughed again, and the sound echoed through the large chamber, high and edged with something like insanity.

The basilisk slid towards him, scales rasping against the stone floor. Harry cursed his luck. He had hoped he would be able to get the girl without having to fight with the basilisk. He ducked behind a pillar, trying to assess the situation.

_{Stop,}_ he hissed, and the snake slowed.

_{Ignore him! I am your true master,}_ Riddle commanded. Harry could imagine the smirk on his face as he ran from pillar to pillar, avoiding the basilisk's rapid strikes.

_You're pathetic._

The being from his dreams appeared in front of him, his green eyes piercing into Harry's. His wings flared out behind him and his tail lashed in agitation. The chamber faded away, until it was only he and Harry.

"What are you doing here, hiding like trash?" he spat. "Don't you realize your strength?" He stepped close to Harry and grasped a handful of his robes. "Feel your power. It swirls around you like a storm, begging to be used, but you do not feel it."

Harry gasped as he felt something vast and dense pressing against him on all sides. It tugged at his clothes and hair and squeezed at him suffocatingly. Harry struggled to breath in, feeling panic creep up on him as it never had before.

"Control it! Use it." The being's eyes flashed. "Hear me now. My name is—"

_A white moon, white sand, white masks. Black holes. Red blood. A gem, glittering with pale fire. A woman with too much heart. A name…_

"Ulquiorra!" Harry whispered, and the world around him exploded into blinding light.


	3. Chapter 3

"_Ulquiorra!" Harry whispered, and the world around him exploded into blinding light._

As the light cleared, he felt something solid in his hand, so well balanced it felt like a part of him. He looked: it was a javelin, pure white, as long as Harry was tall, and with tips that narrowed into needle-sharp points. He felt it pulse with furious, pent-up energy, demanding to be thrown. The material was smooth and no doubt strong, but at the same time, it had a texture that made Harry believe it was organic, like bone. It felt lighter than it perhaps should have been; he could lift it with ease.

The basilisk had neared, its green scales rasping against the stone floor. It opened its mouth to strike, twin fangs beading with poison. Without thinking or even looking, Harry threw his javelin, and it flew straight through the top of the basilisk's mouth, through its brain, and out the back of its head with a sick _squish _and _crack_. The snake shuddered twice, then stilled, blood pouring from its impaled skull. The javelin dissolved out of the snake, only to reappear in Harry's hand once again, completely clean and ready to be used once more.

This was Ulquiorra.

_Seal me. Feel my spiritual pressure and compact me._

Harry obeyed the voice. He could easily feel the 'spiritual pressure' the voice spoke of; he reached out to it, pulling it in. The javelin in his hand writhed and shortened, changing shape. It became a katana, sheathed in a green scabbard, with a green handle and a guard shaped like an eye.

"How…" Riddle gazed at the slain basilisk in shock. Harry looked up. He had a job to finish. Moving towards Riddle, he unsheathed his sword. Its wickedly sharp blade glimmered in the torchlight, throwing beams of light onto the grimy walls. Riddle did not seem to notice him. Harry approached the diary on the floor. It felt foul, radiating evil the way the corpse of a rabid dog radiated disease; Harry was loath to get nearer, but he braced himself and sliced at the chains that lead off of it. Riddle screamed, clutching at his chest.

"Why is it hard to breath? What's happening?" He looked straight at Harry, his face honest with shock and pain. "Where did you come from? You were over there, on the floor!" He pointed at a dark heap next to the basilisk. With a start, Harry realized it was himself.

_You are a 'death god' now, Harry, a being of spiritual particles, not a body of flesh. He, too, is now unattached to the world, and can see you. Now kill him. He is still leaching off the energy of the girl._

Suddenly, Riddle began to shriek in pain, an inhuman sound like a dying harpy. Harry looked towards him. The black, rusted chain attached to him was deteriorating; little creatures at its end were consuming it.

_Kill him now, before the process completes, or he will become a hollow._

Harry narrowed his eyes and lifted his blade. He felt nothing as he plunged it into Riddle's chest, no regret or pity as the soul fragment's screams intensified. White light emerged from the wound, and two enormous doors appeared out of nowhere. Two ghastly, bandaged skeletons seemed to guard the doors. They opened with a dull roar, and Harry caught only a glimpse of something huge and vastly powerful before it impaled Riddle with its own sword and drew him into through the gate, laughing maniacally, its booming voice shaking bits of stone free from the roof of the chamber. The doors slammed closed, and disappeared.

_The Gates of Hell._

Well, that made sense.

Remembering why he had come in the first place, Harry turned toward the nearly-dead girl. She was pale as paper, her hair pooled around her in a tangled mess. He couldn't not tell if she was breathing. Harry held her wrist; her pulse beat weakly. She was still alive.

_Sheath your sword and return to your body._

Harry slid the sword back into its scabbard. He noticed something odd; the clothes he was in were not his.

_It's a shihakushou, a death god's uniform. Tuck your sword into your sash._

Harry obeyed, then picked up the girl lying on the floor. She was very light; no doubt she had lost weight due to the stress of being controlled by Riddle. He carried her to his body, then slipped back into it. It felt strange; his body tingled as though it had fallen asleep.

Where was his wand? He looked around. There it was, in the shadow of a nearby pillar. He picked it up, then muttered "Mobilicorpus". The girl lifted into the air, and Harry began to retrace his steps out of the chamber.

/\/\/\/\/\/\

"_So…you have finally unleashed your power."_

_Harry opened his eyes. He was back in the 'dream' place. The being—no, Ulquiorra—was staring down at him. Harry stood._

"_What is this place, in actuality? I realize it isn't just a dream."_

_Something sparked in Ulquiorra's eyes. Approval, perhaps? "This is your inner world, your mind."_

_Harry inspected the dark and shadowy place that was his mind. How strange…_

"_And what are you, exactly?" he asked. Ulquiorra frowned at him._

"_I am a zanpakutou, a soul-cutter. I am a part of your soul, although I wasn't always." His eyes narrowed. "Unique circumstances have brought us together."_

_There was a brief silence._

"_Do you realize what you are?" Ulquiorra inquired, his calm voice carrying a hint of sharpness._

_Harry looked back into Ulquiorra's piercing eyes. He thought back to the day before. "You said I am a 'death god'. What did you mean?"_

"_A death god, or a shinigami, is a spiritual being who sends the souls of the dead to Soul Society, the afterlife." Seemingly without realizing it, Ulquiorra brought a hand to his chest. " Shinigami also sublime hollows, souls who have fallen into despair. Hollows consume other souls. The spirit fragment you killed, Riddle, would have soon become one, if you hadn't killed him."_

"_Riddle was a piece of Voldemort. How is that possible?" Harry asked._

"_He chained himself to the real world, ripping his soul into pieces and storing them in containers such as the diary you saw. The rest of him, including Voldemort, is still out there. As you saw, some souls are not allowed into Soul Society. Instead, souls who have sinned in their lives are sent to hell." Ulquiorra stared at his hand. "Most hollows, however, having been purged of their sins by shinigamis' zanpakutous, do not go to hell."_

"_Hollows? Like…"_

_Ulquiorra's eyes flickered towards the cave behind them. "Yes. Like your inner hollow." He looked back at Harry. "In actuality, you are not only a shinigami, but also part hollow. You are what is known as a vizard."_

_Harry looked at Ulquiorra. "You said that unique circumstances have brought us together."_

_Ulquiorra nodded. "You were supposed to be a normal, albeit magical, human. I was supposed to be sublimed and sent to Soul Society. The one who killed me, however…he would not give the finishing blow. Instead of losing my memories and becoming a pure soul, I became a zanpakutou, and at the very instant that I died, you were conceived. Thus, we were paired, and I became a part of your soul." The hand on his chest clenched into a fist. "I was a hollow, then. I was only partially purified. Instead of my hollow powers being completely destroyed, they became a separate entity, and when I became a part of you, so did he." He looked up at Harry. "And so now, you are a vizard, a shinigami with the powers of a hollow."_

_The pale, waifish hollow boy emerged from the cave, stretching his arms and yawning. He walked over to Ulquiorra, sitting at his feet, and looked at Harry through half-lidded eyes._

"_Hey, partner," he said, his child's voice mockingly sweet._

"_What's your name?" Harry asked. There was clearly something important about names in this world. His inner world._

"_My name?" The child looked at him with wide eyes, as though it was the last question he expected from him.. "I guess you could call me…Murci__é__lago."_

/\/\/\/\/\/\

It was the last day of term. Harry grasped a hold of his trunk, looking over his room in case he had forgotten anything. The adder was wrapped around his neck, and his owl's empty cage was in his other hand. He shrunk the trunk and cage, placing them in his pocket, then quietly left the room and made his way into the dungeon corridors. Most everyone had already left to go to the carriages that would take them to the Hogwarts Express. Harry was not interested in that route. There was no reason for him to return to London.

After a brief stop at the kitchens, Harry made his way outside. He walked towards the forest, eyes peeled for anyone who might notice him. Following a now familiar path, he found his destination: a forest clearing. Placing his parcel of meat on the ground, he began to wait.

The thestral was prompt, as always, and eagerly tore into his gift of raw goat. Harry patted its flank, letting it finish before saying, "I need to go somewhere."

The thestral looked at him curiously.

"To Japan," Harry added. "Will you take me?"

The thestral cocked its head to the side, seemingly contemplating. Then it nodded once, kneeling slightly and folding its wings down to allow Harry to climb onto its back. It turned its head to look back at him, then leapt into the air, headed eastward.

/\/\/\/\/\/\

He could feel it from miles away…the entire city teemed with energy, more than either Diagon Alley or Hogwarts. It was as if the earth itself was magical.

Harry surveyed the town of Karakura from above, hit by an enormous sense of déjà vu. The landscape was familiar: a forked river, crisscrossing streets, the pale line of a railroad track. He could feel the girl, somewhere down below. The thestral began its descent, and anticipation curled in Harry's stomach. Finally, he had found her, after two years, a three-day-long flight, and a week of crisscrossing over the country for the town.

Suddenly, a man appeared below them, an enormous cleaver-like sword in his hand. He scowled at them. The thestral neighed and stopped, flapping its wings wildly to avoid crashing into him.

The man…he was even more familiar. Everything about him, from his wild, orange hair, to his black and white uniform (a shihakushou, Harry remembered), to the 'feeling' of the blade in his hand rang bells in his head.

_Kurosaki Ichigo. Be careful; he is stronger than us at the moment…_

"Please move aside," Harry said in accented Japanese. Kurosaki's eyes narrowed.

"Who are you, brat?" He looked at Harry's mount. "And what on Earth are you riding?"

"My name is Potter Harry," Harry replied cautiously. "This is a thestral."

"You aren't Japanese," Kurosaki noted. "And you're human, but you can see me. What are you doing here, kid?"

Harry frowned. "That isn't important. Please step aside."

Kurosaki snorted. "Not likely. You're coming with me."

_Go with him._

Harry inwardly sighed in frustration. He got off of the thestral. Kurosaki's eyes widened as he watched the boy float in mid-air.

"Go find somewhere where no one will see you. I'll find you later," Harry told the creature. It whinnied softly, but obeyed, disappearing into the distance within seconds. Harry turned to Kurosaki.

"What _are_ you, kid?" Kurosaki asked, staring at him incredulously.

_Don't bother lying._

"I told you, my name is Harry Potter. I'm a wizard…" he hesitated, "and a vizard."

/\/\/\/\/\/\

"You mean, wizards and magic exist." Ichigo looked at Urahara in disbelief. Urahara nodded enthusiastically, beaming.

"Oh yes! Soul Society has known about them for quite some time, now. Magical creatures and beings usually stay apart from the rest of the souls. Districts 81 North, South, East, and West, for example, are almost exclusively for magical beings. Shinigami don't often deal with them, unless they disrupt the balance of souls, of course."

Ichigo turned to look at Harry. "So, he's a wizard, and a vizard, but somehow still alive, and can use some shinigami techniques while still in his body."

"Not exactly," Urahara replied, taking a sip of his tea. "You see, it seems that while in his body, he is subconsciously using magic to achieve what he would be able to do as a spiritual body."

Ichigo closed his eyes and rubbed his temples. "You'd think I'd get used to weird stuff, but honestly…"

Ignoring him, Urahara turned to Harry. "You say that you already know your zanpakutou's name?"

"Yes," Harry replied.

Urahara's smiled brightened further. "Well then, let's see it!" He struck with his cane. Before Harry could even process the move, he was out of his body. He stood up and backed away, a hand on his zanpakutou. Ichigo gasped, his eyes filled with recognition.

"That zanpakutou…"

Urahara hid a smirk under his fan. "It seems my suspicion was correct. You contain the partially reincarnated soul of Ulquiorra Cifer."

Harry felt a familiar presence materialize beside him. He turned to look; it was the aforementioned zanpakutou.

Ichigo looked at Ulquiorra in complete shock and disbelief. "You! But I—you—what is going on?" He reached for Zangetsu.

"Calm yourself. I am not here to harm you, or any other person," Ulquiorra replied, eyes narrowed at the man who had failed to kill him.

"Then what _are _you here for?" Ichigo demanded to know. He kept a hand on his zanpakutou.

The door of the room slid open, and a woman slipped inside. Harry stared. It was her…

She turned to Ichigo. "I though I felt…" She turned slightly. Her eyes widened as she took in the scene in front of her. "Ulquiorra-san!"

"Onna…" Ulquiorra murmured.

Orihime shrieked with happiness and ran towards him, embracing him tightly. He made a small noise of surprise, looking down at her with a wide-eyed stare. She closed her eyes, smiling with contentment. A tear rolled down her cheek.

"I though you were dead…" she whispered.

"I _did_ die," he replied, unresponsively keeping his hands hang by his sides as she continued to hug him. "Get a hold of yourself, woman."

She withdrew enough to look him in the eyes. "But you're alive!" She noticed something else and gasped. "Your hollow hole…" She touched his chest as though she could hardly believe it.

"You aren't a hollow?" Ichigo asked incredulously. Ulquiorra glanced at him.

"I am a zanpakutou, Kurosaki, as you ought to have known by my reiastu."

Orihime gasped again. "A zanpakutou? But whose?" She looked around the room, and her eyes landed on Harry. She squealed and rushed over. "He's adorable!" she exclaimed, wrapping him into a hug as well. Harry held very still, resisting the urge to rip himself free of her grip. She let him go and smiled widely. "And he looks just like you!"

"Indeed," remarked Urahara, face still hidden under his fan. "What a remarkable coincidence..."

_{She smells good.}_

Orihime squeaked and stepped back. "There's a snake around your neck!"

The adder slithered down Harry's arm.

_{Don't bite them,}_ Harry commanded.

_{I wasn't going to,}_ the adder hissed. It raised its head to get a good look at Orihime.

"You can speak to animals?" Orihime asked, amazed. "That's so cool!"

"Only snakes," Harry replied. Orihime gazed at him in wonder.

"It's like a storybook! You could be snake-man and send them out as spies!" She bounced on her toes in glee, then reached out to touch the adder. She paused. "Is it dangerous?"

"It won't attack."

Orihime smiled and reached out again. It allowed her to stroke its scales.

_{That feelsss good…} _the snake hissed, even more sibilant that usual. Orihime looked at Harry, eyes curious.

"It hissed. Did it say something?" she asked.

"It said that it enjoys what you are doing," he answered. Orihime beamed.

"That's good!" She continued to pet the snake. "Is it a boy snake or a girl snake?"

"It is male."

"Does he have a name?"

"No," Harry replied. "It doesn't need one."

"Of course he does! Everyone needs a name!" She inspected the poisonous snake. "I know! His name is Zigzag." She traced the dark, jagged pattern that ran down Zigzag's back.

Harry stared at her, then at Ulquiorra. This was the woman he was sent to find? Ulquiorra looked at him impassively.

Ichigo cleared his throat. "So…why are you here, Potter?"

Harry surreptitiously glanced at Ulquiorra once more. What was he supposed to say?

_You're here for training._

He echoed Ulquiorra's words out loud. Ichigo frowned, but Urahara beamed.

"Well, excellent! I'm sure Ichigo would be delighted to teach you all you need to know!"

"Like hell I would…" Ichigo muttered under his breath. His permanent scowl deepened.

"But he'll need a place to stay," Orihime said. She smiled brightly. "I know! You can stay with me!"

Ichigo tossed her a worried glance. "Inoue, I don't think—"

"It would be an honor," Harry said. Orihime beamed.

"Well, then it's settled!"

/\/\/\/\/\/\

_Harry sat at the edge of cliff, watching the dark clouds swirl and shift beneath him. From their depths, a dark figure emerged, wings flapping as he ascended out of the fog. Fat droplets of water clung to his skin, gleaming in the moonlight._

"_You were outside of my body," Harry stated calmly as Ulquiorra rose to hover near him._

"_I chose to materialize myself."_

"_I see…" Harry's eyes narrowed. "That man…Kurosaki…he was the one who killed you, wasn't he?"_

"_Yes." Ulquiorra's face betrayed no emotion as he responded. "Although his inner hollow did most of the damage, the blade was his."_

"_Yes, his inner hollow…" said a high, hate-filled voice from beside Harry's ear. Harry's heart raced at the unexpectedly close sound. Murciélago giggled at him, then sat by his side, dangling his legs back and forth. "If I meet that bastard again, I swear, I'll blow him to pieces!"_

"_You will not!" Ulquiorra commanded, uncharacteristically sharp. "Kurosaki is an ally now. We cannot afford to offend him _or_ his pet hollow."_

"_Yes…that stupid Shirosaki. Such a goddamn rebel! Doesn't understand subtlety at all…" The hollow's face twisted with scorn._

"_Silence yourself, Murciélago."_

_Murciélago giggled more. "S'okay Ulqui, I won't ruin your plans, even if I'd love to sink my fangs into that girl's pretty little neck…" He scowled. "I don't get what the deal is with her, anyways. She's just a weak, stupid human with some flashy powers."_

"_Perhaps," Ulquiorra conceded. "But—"_

"_Yeah, yeah, I know the goddamn drill. I still don't think it's necessary." He laid his head in Harry's lap, his white hair spilling over Harry's hakama, and swung his legs up on the cliff ledge. Harry frowned in distaste as the hollow sighed, licked up a bit of the blood dripping down his cheek, and closed his black-and-yellow eyes. "Wake me up when you leave, 'kay? This crap is boring me."_

_Ulquiorra stared at the small, child-like hollow, a frown on his lips. "He likes to pretend he is harmless," he remarked. Harry remembered the night he had spent in the infirmary when he 'dreamed' of the hollow for the first time. He knew that Murciélago was far more deadly than a child sleeping in his lap._

"_He makes a valid point, however. I do not understand the importance of the woman, Inoue Orihime," Harry said._

_Ulquiorra's eyes narrowed. "You still don't understand? The emptiness in your chest…the apathy in your mind…it isn't natural."_

_Harry frowned. "What do you mean?"_

_Ulquiorra landed on the ledge, looking down at him. "I should have realized…" His eyes bored into Harry's. "You wouldn't miss anything you haven't yet experienced." Once again, he dug into his eye socket, his fingers emerging with a glistening eyeball. Unceremoniously, he crushed it in his hand, letting the fragments drift towards the boy._

_**She is crying…crying for that boy…and somehow, this time it matters. It…hurts…to see her tears falling so uselessly. Why?**_

_**I'm dying. I'm dying, dead on my feet…my organs will not return…**_

_**!**_

_**He came back to life. He…regrew his heart. How?**_

_**Her tears haven't stopped…she's afraid of him…and yet…**_

_**This must be finished.**_

_**He? Ever the chivalrous hero. Does he understand what he asks for? Very well then…**_

_**!**_

_**I'm dying. This is it. I will be gone…no!**_

_**Kill me! Finish what you started. Kill me now! Before I dissipate into this world I hate…Kill me!**_

_**You idiot! Do you not understand your own duties? Do you not realize the most merciful thing you can do is strike me down now? Kill me! This is not about win or lose…why won't you just kill me!**_

_**I'm dying…**_

_**Are you afraid of me, woman?**_

_**You aren't? I'm…glad. Happy.**_

_**I get it now…what your out-stretched hand embodies is…the Heart.**_

_Harry gasped as he awoke from Ulquiorra's memories, clutching at his chest. Murciélago had disappeared somewhere, but he barely noticed as he lurched to his feet, overcome by the emotions he had just experienced. He couldn't understand them…he couldn't grasp them, see them, analyze them, take them apart or put them together. He didn't understand why he felt so odd, so…_

_Hollow. Empty. Unnatural…_

"_Do you understand now?" _

"_Yes…" Harry whispered, slowly calming down. He touched his chest again, reassured by the solid expanse of flesh and the steady beat under his fingertips. "But why? I have a heart…"_

_Ulquiorra frowned, a touch of…remorse?…in his green eyes. "Yes, you do…but for the most part, it is locked away. When we were paired…we did not integrate smoothly. My soul and yours were not meant to be together—we were incompatible in the most basic of ways. Bits of who I am were absorbed by you—this made us capable of sharing a soul—but I did not understand what was happening at the time. I did not understand my role as a zanpakutou, and so, I lashed out blindly. I nearly destroyed you, and the both of us, before I regained my senses. By then, the damage was done, however. My thoughts were on the heart—that is where I struck. I sealed it away, so that it could heal, but then…"_

"_Voldemort."_

"_Yes."_

"_And now?"_

"_It is still sealed away, deep where it will not be found, except with _her_ help."_

"_How can you be sure?"_

"_He's not." Murciélago returned from wherever he had disappeared to. "He's not, he's not, he's not," the hollow singsonged._

"_I am not certain that she will unlock it entirely, but nevertheless, she will help." Ulquiorra glanced into the depths of the cave. "Without her, it will never be unsealed."_

/\/\/\/\/\/\

Harry watched impassively as his new guardian struggled to open her front door. He had spent the night before at Urahara's shop while the sly man continued to scan and analyze him. The man had found nothing 'too abnormal' and cleared him to live with Orihime. His shadowed eyes were too knowing, in Harry's opinion. Harry wondered what exactly the tests had revealed about him.

"Yatta! I got it!" With a rustle of her keys, the door swung open. She ushered him inside and flicked on the lights.

The apartment was not big by anyone's standards, and rather plain. An old rug and a low table lay in front of an outdated TV, and a few worn stuffed animals sat on a shelf half-filled with tattered paperbacks. A small kitchenette was crammed into another corner, looking for all the world as if a tornado had torn through it. Dishes and bits of oddly-colored sauces were everywhere, and the tiny fridge looked as if it would burst open at any moment. On the adjacent walls were two doors, one ajar and one flung wide open. Harry could see shiny tiles through the barely open door, presumably the bathroom. The other door was a window into a world of chaos; clothes and personal items were strewn everywhere on the futon and the floor of the bedroom.

"It's not much," Orihime said cheerfully, "but I like it here. It's cozy."

_Cramped_ was the word Harry knew most people would use, but he had already gathered that she was a 'glass half-full' sort of person.

"I don't mind," he said. It was the truth. He had encountered far worse lodgings in his trips around Europe to find her.

"Oh good," she said, seemingly relieved. She bit her lip and looked around. "Well, I have an extra futon you can use at night…we can just set it over there, by the TV." She smiled. "Food is easy. If you get hungry, just tell me and I'll whip something up in a jiffy!" She looked around again, as if searching for something that he might need. "Does Ulquiorra-san need anything?" she asked worriedly.

Harry stared at her. "Why would he? He's a sword."

"He's a person, too," she admonished lightly. "With feelings, and needs, and dreams, and thoughts. Take Ichigo's Zangetsu for example. He hates the rain, and it rains in Ichigo's inner world when he's sad, and so Ichigo tries to not be sad very often."

"I suppose so," Harry granted her.

She smiled, then put her hands over her mouth in sudden realization. "Oh! Zigzag…Does he need anything?"

"It—Zigzag," he frowned at the name, "can find i—his own food. If he can't, that's his problem. He chose to come with me on his own." Then Harry remembered the other creature that came with him. "However…the thestral might need meat. I don't know if it can find enough in the wild to satiate itself."

"Thestral?"

"It's a type of magical creature." He tried to think of a way to describe it to her. "Like a bat and a horse combined, but far more intelligent than either."

"Cool!" She looked out the window as though she expected it to be there. "Where is it now?"

Harry concentrated for a moment. He could feel it, not terribly far away.

"About two miles in _that_ direction," he said, pointing.

"Well, there's a butcher store a few blocks away, if you want to go and get some meat."

"That would be…appreciated."

Orihime smiled. "Well, then, let's go!" She ushered him back out the door and they were off. After a brief detour to the butcher shop, they walked towards the thick forest by Karakura's edge. They had only traveled about a mile and a half when Harry gestured for Orihime to stop. The thestral was approaching.

It ghosted its way out of the trees and towards Harry, eagerly nudging the fat bag of meat he was carrying. Harry opened it and let its contents fall to the ground, where the thestral happily devoured it. Orihime looked at the magical beast with awe as it ripped apart the hunk of flesh.

"Whoa…"

The thestral finished and looked up at the two of them. It went over to Harry, nuzzled his shoulder, then trotted towards Orihime, inspecting her with its wide, white eyes. Seemingly pleased with what it saw, it sidled up along side her, its wings folded up and tucked away so that she could stroke its mane. She did so, and smiled when the creature sniffed her hair.

"It's cute!" she said scratching it behind its ears. It made an odd, gravely sort of hum. "It's purring!" She petted it happily, clearly fascinated. "Is it a boy or girl?" she asked, just as she had for the snake.

"I'm…not sure."

Harry addressed his snake. _{Do you know if the Thestral is female or male?}_

Zigzag flickered out his tongue. _{She's female. And, no doubt, she already has a name. Her kind name their children. You might want to ask her.}_

_{Ask her for me. I am not capable of speaking with her.}_

_{You simply can't understand what she says to you, ignorant human. Creature of the night skies, tell me your name.}_

The Thestral made a soft noise, not unlike a mewl. The snake bared his fangs at her. _{How dare you! You know well that no snake requires a name, why am I rude for not having asked yours before?} _The thestral made another noise. _{Oh, so it's okay for him, because he can't understand you. I see how it is.} _The snake snapped at her threateningly. _{Just tell me your name!}_

The thestral made another odd noise, half a coo and half a growl.

_{She says her name is Silent Moon. Not silent enough, in my opinion.}_

"The thestral is a she," Harry told Orihime. "Her name is Silent Moon."

"That's a nice name." She patted Silent Moon's head. It nuzzled her palm, then looked at Harry, then at the sky.

"Not today," Harry told her. She whinnied with disappointment.

"What an odd creature," commented a deep, gravelly voice. Harry turned towards the sound. He hadn't felt anything…

"Down here," the voice said. Harry looked down. A black cat looked back at him. "Hello," it said. The cat had spoken.

"Are you an animagus?" he asked the cat (who had spoken!), a hand on his wand.

"Hmm? Do your people shape-shift as well? I thought it was a Shihouin specialty." The cat idly licked a paw.

"Yoruichi-san, hello!" exclaimed Orihime.

"Hello, Orihime," Yoruichi replied, looking at her. "You have blood on your blouse, by the way."

"Huh?" Orihime looked down. "Oh, oh dear."

Harry casually removed his wand from his pocket and flicked it towards her, muttering a spell under his breath. The stain promptly disappeared.

"Oh! Wow! Thank you, Harry-kun!" She beamed at him.

Yoruichi looked at Harry appraisingly. "So you're Kisuke's new project. Interesting." The cat circled around him. "I have to say, you're a little young. You have quite a bit of potential, however. Perhaps as much as Ichigo…but we'll see, I suppose. Ichigo was a bit of a special case, after all." The cat prodded him with her paw. "You are definitely quite strong, reiryoku-wise. Physically, you're a little small."

"He's only twelve, Yoruichi-san," Orihime protested.

"I didn't say it was a bad thing. After all, the smaller you are, the more easy it is to maneuver." The cat seemed to smirk. "Perhaps I'll get you started on Hakuda and Shunpou after Ichigo's had his turn to teach you something."

Orihime smiled. "So, what brings you here, Yoruichi-san?"

"Kisuke, that lazy bastard, sent me to tell you, Harry, to meet him tomorrow at Urahara Shouten 'at the break of dawn'. His words, not mine."

Harry nodded. "I will go."

"Good. See you tomorrow, Harry. Bye, Orihime." The cat sauntered back into the forest. Orihime smiled and waved goodbye.

/\/\/\/\/\/\

Harry carefully opened the front door, peering into the darkness outside, then closed it behind him. He made his way through the darkened streets of Karakura town, racing the sun to his destination. Just as the first rays were peeking up above the horizon, he softly rapped on the front door of Urahara Shouten. It was opened immediately by the cheerful shopkeeper.

"Harry-kun, welcome! You are right on time." He ushered the boy inside. "Ichigo should be here any minute now," he told him.

Indeed, Harry felt a familiar aura approach, and soon, Ichigo had joined them, bleary-eyed and irritable.

"Is beginning this early really necessary, Sandle-Hat?" he asked.

"Of course it is! We need to make the most of every day!" Urahara said cheerily. He lead them to the trap-door opening to the training grounds below. Ichigo climbed in first, followed by Harry. Urahara made no move to go after them.

"Oi! Aren't you coming too?" Ichigo called from the floor of the immense underground chamber.

"Oh, I'd hate to intrude," Urahara replied with mock politeness. He waved cheekily and closed the trap door soundly.

"Goddamn bastard," Ichigo muttered. He turned to Harry, who was staring at the enormous size of the training grounds.

"I can sense no magic, or at least, none familiar to me…how is this possible?" Harry asked, wondering just how the shopkeeper had managed to avoid buried lines and pipes and create the artificial sky.

Ichigo shrugged. "Hell if I know. That bastard always has some clever tricks up his sleeve." He untied an odd badge off of his belt and thumped himself in the chest with it. His shinigami self popped out of his earthly body, and with the ease of long practice, he caught it before it fell and dragged it to the edge of the training grounds.

"Here," Ichigo said, tossing the badge to Harry.

Harry carefully touched it to his chest, and his body fell to the ground with a thump, leaving him standing upright. He began to levitate the corpse towards Ichigo's, then stopped, put away his wand, and did the job by hand. It wouldn't do to become weak and depended on his wand, just like the rest of his feeble race. He gave the badge back to Ichigo, who was watching him in silence.

"Alright then, take out your sword and get ready."

For what? Harry thought as he unsheathed the sword. Ichigo frowned.

"You're doing that wrong," he said, walking over to the boy and putting the sword back into its scabbard. He unsheathed it slowly. "You need to pull this way, see? It's faster, and gets you into the right grip."

Harry did as Ichigo instructed.

"Better." Without warning, the orange-haired man pushed hard on Harry's chest. The boy fell backwards into the dust. Face expressionless but inwardly burning, Harry stood back up. "You're unbalanced," Ichigo said. He kneeled down and tugged Harry's feet into the right position, much to his discomfort. "First things first. You need to be able to stay standing. Put that sword away."

Harry obeyed and did his best to stay up as Ichigo pushed him to and fro, easily swinging him about like a ragdoll.

_Tighten the muscles of your stomach. Press your feet into the ground but don't hold yourself so rigidly; a brittle branch breaks. Absorb some of the blow._

Concentration broken by Ulquiorra's sudden advise, Harry fell to the ground once more. He got up immediately, irate at his own inability.

Using what his sword had told him, he found himself staying upright more often. Ichigo nodded with approval, but continued to jostle him around, increasing the force of his shoves until it was all Harry could do to stay on his feet. Finally, he stepped back, letting the boy regain his breath.

"You're weak. You can't do anything until you get stronger. Start running."

The sharp words spurred Harry on as he began to run, his breaths coming in embarrassingly loud gasps.

_He's right. Your body is weak. Run faster._

/\/\/\/\/\/\

Tired to the bone, sore deep in every muscle, and with splotchy black bruises on every limb and across his back, Harry slowly walked back to Orihime's, trying not to wince in pain with each step. Although not cruel, Ichigo (as he insisted on being called) was far from merciful.

The door was unlocked. He turned the knob and pushed it open. It did so with a dry creak. There was an odd smell in the air.

Orihime looked up from a pot of…something…a broad smile on her face. It quickly turned to concern.

"Harry-kun, what happened?"

He looked at her impassively, deliberately misinterpreting her. "Many things."

She frowned. "I mean, why are you hurt so badly? Did Ichigo do all of this to you?"

"I did this to myself with my own weakness. I don't need your pity."

Orihime stepped closer to him. "I'm not pitying you. I've been hurt pretty badly too. I just don't think Ichigo should have been so harsh."

"Pain is the best teacher."

"Kindness can be too."

"Not for war."

"If you only have kindness, there would be no war."

"Is that likely?"

"Is it too difficult to try?"

Harry opened his mouth to reply, but he could find no answer that would work in his favor. If he said no, it was surrender to her idea. If he said yes, he would prove himself weak.

But how was not being kind weak?

There was something strange about this woman.

"Even when one person tries, the other might not necessarily be receptive."

Orihime smiled wryly. "But at least you tried. It's not your fault, then. And if it works, then all the better."

"I…suppose," he conceded. Orihime regained her smile.

"Now who's up for some sweet and salty banana-flavored onion ring soup?"

* * *

Please review! There are so many of you on the alert list who never say a word of appreciation (or dislike, if that be the case).


	4. Chapter 4

Meditation.

Harry loathed meditation. He hated trying to make himself think nothing. And for what? Self-calming? Reflection? Healing?

It seemed like a nearly worthless activity. It did have worth, however. Meditation would open a door to his inner world, where he could interact with his zanpakutou.

It didn't matter what he felt about it. He simply had to do it, just as he had to run and dodge and block and attempt to hit as Ichigo was teaching him to. "At least Yoruichi hasn't come yet," Ichigo had said. Apparently, she was ten times worse than Ichigo could ever be. Harry wasn't sure how exaggerated that claim was.

Meditation. It was what he was supposed to be doing. Clearly, it wasn't working.

Meditation: concentration on one thing, then nothing, excluding every conscious thought and allowing him to better feel his reiatsu. One thing…

The color black. It consumed his thoughts. Slowly, the world faded away, leaving just a heart beat, and soft exhalation, the cold and prickling feeling that was his spiritual energy, pulsating in time with his heart.

_The Cave was silent. Harry stood still in the darkness, wondering what was hidden in its depths. He had only ever chosen to go out, to the cliff and the moonlight, but the Cave was what took up the majority of his inner world's space. He felt for the wall, then frowned. The Cave wall was smooth, almost slick, and cold, like polished marble. He followed it along with his fingers, going in the opposite direction as he would usually take, going deeper into the Cave._

_The darkness was impenetrable. Even as time passed, his eyes could not adjust. He closed them, and _felt_, pushing out his reiatsu. It seemed to echo, oddly, against the walls and floor, as though it bouncing off. He was using his reiatsu the way bats used sound. A coincidence?_

_Not likely._

_The Cave was not so much a cave as it was a tunnel, he found. The walls were smooth, yes, and rounded, meeting at the top in a seamless arch. He pulsed his reiatsu once more and made another discovery. There was not just one path in the Cave, but many, and as he spread out his senses and strengthened the pulses of reiatsu, he realized just how many. It was a warren of branching tunnels, vast and without order, full of twists and loops and dead ends. Everything was situated around some sort of center, and though he tried to feel what was there, he couldn't understand the feeling that returned to him. Harry frowned and thought he knew. The center was the Heart. His frown deepened._

_According to what his sensing was telling him, the center was inconceivably far—farther, even, than the diameter of the Earth. Furthermore, there was no straight path leading to the center. He would have to wind through the maze of tunnels._

_This was not an easy task, he realized. It would take years. Years, just to find his heart. Was it worth it?_

_(Hollow. Empty. Unnatural.)_

_Yes._

/\/\/\/\/\

There was strength in his limbs, now. His arms were cabled with muscle and his legs were sharply defined. His lungs worked with quiet efficiency, in tandem with his (physical) heart. He was ready, now, to start to train with swords.

Wooden swords.

"Why must we used these useless pieces of trash?" Harry said, his green eyes burning furiously despite the controlled monotone of his voice.

"If we didn't, I'd slice you and your sword in half. You don't even know the bare basics of swordplay." Ichigo moved Harry's feet and repositioned his hands on the bokken. "Remember how this position feels. It is the proper rest position. Practice it until it comes naturally."

"Ichigo, why are you teaching him all this trivial crap?"

Ichigo scowled at the intruding Yoruichi. "Because he doesn't know it. He was never trained."

"Hmph," the cat said. "Maybe you ought to spar him and see what he does know. He might have absorbed some of Ulquiorra's ability."

Ichigo looked at her incredulously. "Spar him?"

"Yes," Yoruichi said firmly. "Do it."

Ichigo frowned, and then picked up his own bokken. "Fine. Get ready, Harry." He watched, amazed, as the boy immediately took on a very familiar guard position—one he hadn't seen in years.

The pace he set was slow—almost impossibly slow for Ichigo. Harry, however, struggled to keep up, though he managed to block every swing in his direction. He felt as though his body was half-remembering some strange instinct, like blood trickling back into a numb limb.

Soon, blocking became easier, almost natural. Raising an eyebrow, Ichigo quickened the pace slightly, then more and more as Harry adjusted. There were problems, yes, in his stance and foot work and stability and strength, but it seemed he had an inherent knack for swordplay, a certain lackadaisical style that absolutely reeked of the former Cuatro Espada.

Abruptly, Ichigo disarmed Harry, gesturing for him to stop. "Have you been training with your zanpakutou?"

"No," Harry said truthfully. He hadn't spoken to him since the last time.

"He merged with a part of Ulquiorra's soul," Urahara said, appearing out of the shadows as he was wont to do. "Of course he has a few talents waiting to be…released."

"How am I supposed to train him, then? Just random sparring?" Ichigo wanted to know.

"It's not a bad method," Urahara said, hiding a wicked smile. "Look at how you turned out."

Ichigo opened his mouth to reply, then closed it when he realized he had no counter.

"Well, then, get on to it, boy. Try and make him learn a style of his own. He's not a clone of Ulquiorra," Yoruichi reminded him.

"I know that," Ichigo said, his scowl more pronounced than normal. "What are you two doing here, anyway?"

"Oh, just checking on my favorite pair of anomalies. You know how I am," Urahara said, fluttering his fan. Yoruichi made a noise somewhere between a snort and a mewl.

"I actually have a reason," the cat said. "There isn't much time left in the summer. Harry, you'll need to head back to your school, and before you go, I need to teach you a few exercises. You need to be prepared for next summer. I'll be teaching you Hakuda."

"He's going to come back?" Ichigo asked.

"I…" Harry hadn't thought about it much, but the answer was clear. "Yes, I will return."

"Ah, excellent! You never were introduced to any of our fabulous friends, other than Orihime, of course. My, how the time has flown!"

"Indeed," Harry replied. The summer had gone by quickly between the exhausting sessions with Ichigo and the confusing conversations he had had with Orihime.

"Harry, tomorrow, I'll be here to train you instead of Ichigo. He's suffered enough for this year. Make sure to stretch out well—you'll need to be nice and flexible for the new stretches you'll be learning." Yoruichi slinked away, tail swishing. Harry wondered if he would finally see the cat's actual form.

/\/\/\/\/\

Harry had a feeling that he was supposed to be a bit more shocked than he was. He knew the Yoruichi was a woman, although he had never lingered on the thought. He had simply figured that the deep, gravelly voice was a side-effect of being a cat. He hadn't expected purple hair, or dark skin, or yellow-ish eyes, or her being completely naked…under her clothing, that is.

She was dressed for movement: a black garment with no back and some sort of leggings. She grinned ferally, obviously waiting for an exclamation of surprise.

It didn't come. Yoruichi pouted, cheated of her fun.

"How did you know?"

"You felt female. I can't tell with animals, but with humans, it's easy enough to tell."

"You sensed it?" Yoruichi raised an eyebrow. "You're reiatsu sensitive, then?"

Harry shrugged. "I would assume so."

Yoruichi regained her grin. "Well, that's one think I won't have to teach you. Ichigo took forever to learn to sense things." She cracked her knuckles and rolled her shoulders back. "Well, let's get started!"

/\/\/\/\/\

Harry forced himself to roll out of bed. He ached more than he ever had before. It was worse than Ichigo by ten, and it was only stretches! That woman had been more flexible than he was sure a human body was possible of.

"Are you okay, Harry-kun?" Orihime asked, a worried look on her face. She felt his forehead. She noticed that he didn't flinch away—he was in serious pain if he forgot his distaste for touching.

"Fine," he said shortly. He stood up, slowly, forcing himself not to fall.

"I don't think you are."

Bracing himself, he put one foot in front of the other. It was agony. Orihime shook her head.

"Please sit down, Harry-kun."

"I'm fine," he snapped, taking another step. His knees buckled, then gave way. He collapsed in a heap.

"Ow," he said, closing his eyes in shame. He was pathetic.

An odd, cool, refreshing sensation poured over him. He opened his eyes. An orange shield-like energy hovered over him, and through it, he could see Orihime, her hands out in front of her.

"I'm sorry, Harry-kun, but you looked so miserable…" She looked down at her lap, but her hands never lost their steadiness.

"What is this?" Harry asked. He reached out to touch the energy, but found he couldn't get too close to it.

"It's my powers. They're part of my Shun Shun Rikka, and they help me heal." She gestured at two fairy-like creatures he hadn't seen before. They appeared to be concentrating on the orange shield.

"This…is healing me?"

Orihime nodded.

Harry flexed his arm. The pain wasn't nearly as bad as before.

"Could you stop it? I don't want to heal completely…It might undo the training."

"Oh! Okay." The shield disappeared, and her hairpins winked.

Harry hesitated, and then said, "Thank you."

Orihime smiled widely. "You're always welcome, Harry-kun."

/\/\/\/\/\

Soon, it was time for Harry to leave. He said his goodbyes quickly—the sight of Orihime crying made him uncomfortable—and left, riding Silent Moon in the direction of London. He planned to quickly buy his school supplies (he had received a very exhausted owl during his stay in Karakura Town), and then get to Hogsmeade Station just as the Hogwarts Express arrived. If the thestral flew at full speed, they would make it—a full twenty-four hour flight.

He decided to get some sleep while he could. Sleeping on a flying horse wasn't easy, but he could manage.

/\/\/\/\/\

"_Perhaps you aren't trash," Ulquiorra mused, not looking back at Harry. He was standing at the edge of the cliff, staring up at the moon. "Although it did take you far too long to find her."_

"_She's booooriiiing," Murciélago whined. He was seated on the ledge, kicking his feet. "Boring and stupid. Yoruichi's better. She knows how to _hurt_ people."_

_Harry winced at the memory of Yoruichi's lessons._

_Ulquiorra turned to face Harry. His eyes were full of calculation._

"_Now that your training has begun outside, it must also begin inside. We, too, must train." His eyes glittered. "Remember that there is a constant enemy who will not rest until we are dead. Do not think that it will be easy, although you know his secret."_

"_Voldemort is still weak."_

"_He waits for a time to rise, and when he does—"_

"—_we will eliminate him."_

/\/\/\/\/\

"You weren't on the train again," Draco mentioned, trying to be subtle in prying for information. Harry merely shrugged and delicately bit into his food.

"Obviously, he was too big of a target on the trains," said Blaise, another boy in their year. He rolled his eyes at Draco, who turned pink. "That's why the Dementors came."

"Dementors were on the train?" Harry asked, raising an eyebrow.

"To look for Black," Draco said, trying to sound knowledgeable. He seemed to go pale at the memory. "My father won't be happy…"

"Looks like Dumbledore's not too happy either," Blaise commented, jerking his head towards the Head Table. Dumbledore did look uncharacteristically grim. "Between this year and the last, it's a wonder he's still here."

"My father—"

"—hasn't kicked him out yet," Blaise interrupted. "Dementors guarding the school, though…what were they thinking? They aren't exactly easy to control."

"They're trying to catch Black as quickly as they can. No one's ever broken out of Azkaban before…Say, are you going to go and look for him? Going to try and get some revenge?" Draco looked at Harry expectantly.

Harry wasn't exactly sure who "Black" was, but he knew how he ought to respond. "Do I look like Gryffindor trash? I'm not going to try and attack a man who escaped from Azkaban…not yet, at least. We're only third years."

"They say he's after you, though," Blaise said. "That what I've heard, at least."

"Well, he did betray your parents," Draco said. Blaise rolled his eyes at the lack of tact. "He most likely wants to finish the job, so to speak."

"He'll have to get through the Dementors first," Blaise pointed out.

"He already has, once," Harry said, and an awkward silence fell. Draco coughed, and then said, "Did you get a look at the new professor? He looks like a bundle of rags."

"He has to be better than Lockhart."

"Anyone is better than Lockhart," Harry said forcefully. He turned to look at the man, and met his amber eyes momentarily before he glanced away. Harry frowned. Why had the professor been watching him?

/\/\/\/\/\

Arithmancy and Care of Magical Creatures passed uneventfully, although Harry had had to keep Malfoy from insulting the hippogriffs in the first class. Some hapless Gryffindor had been coerced into bowing to and riding one of the hippogriffs, much to the amusement of the Slytherins. Harry wondered how it compared to riding a thestral. The teacher, an enormous man, seemed to have strange ideas about safety and danger. Arithmancy was interesting, but also a bit dull, and it seemed that many wizards and witches didn't get much math education. Some of the concepts they covered were so basic that Harry fought to keep a politely interested facial expression.

Runes was even more interesting, and Harry knew runes could be used in many wards and rituals, and were useful for strengthening spells. Transfiguration, Potions, and Charms were as usual, but Defense Against the Dark Arts went beyond his expectations.

It wasn't like what he had learned the year before, in the "detention" sessions with Professor Snape (he later found out that it had counted as independent study, and that he had received and O for the class). It was hands-on, and although they learned only a few protective spells each lesson, they were quickly and enthusiastically learned by most of the class. It was interesting, yes, but Harry found it of little relevance. He privately continued the research Snape had him do the year before. Hogwarts Castle had a great deal of books on defense.

What he really needed was a place to practice his knowledge. It was difficult to find a private place anywhere on the grounds, and the Forbidden Forest, while uninhabited by humans, contained many other sentient forms of life. He had felt the centaurs watching him on more than one occasion.

There was always the Chamber of Secrets...perhaps, he thought, it could be used as his private workplace.

/\/\/\/\/\

Sneaking around Hogwarts was ridiculously easy, he thought, slipping into the girls' bathroom. He looked around, but the odd ghost he had met the first time he had entered was nowhere to be seen.

_{Open,}_ he hissed, and the sink fell away. He lifted himself into the hole.

The journey back into the Chamber was uneventful and almost anticlimactic—he almost expected to find no evidence of his battle with Riddle. However, once he entered the main chamber, he knew that the basilisk had been no figment of his imagination. The enormous snake lay in a great heap, its blood still wet in a puddle around it. It looked as though it had just been killed. Harry avoided looking at its head, as its eyes were most likely still open and capable of damage. He would have to figure out a safe way of harvesting its many useful parts.

_Will the eyes harm me?_ he asked his zanpakutou, approaching the basilisk's side.

_I do not know. It is best not to look at them, for the time being._

Harry wondered if the preservation was a property of the Chamber, or if the basilisk's blood was so potent that it effectively preserved the beast by itself. He turned to the little book lying on the floor. Its white pages were pristine, and it felt normal, free of the soul fragment's taint. It was just a plain diary.

Was there anything else in the Chamber? Surely it had not been built simply to house the basilisk. He peered into the shaft from which the basilisk had emerged. There was nothing living beyond it. He raised himself up into it, and found himself passing through a den-like area, full of shed scales and little bones. There was a door on the other side with no handle or lock.

_{Open,}_ he hissed, but the door did not budge.

_{Slytherin,}_ Harry guessed. The door glowed slightly, and then the face of Salazar emerged from the stone like a statue being made in fast forward, or as if he were on the other side of a pane of soft. opaque plastic, and he pressed his face to it. His eyes opened, two emeralds incased in stone.

_{Who are you?}_ he asked, his voice, soft but commanding, echoing in the room.

_{Harry Potter,} _he answered, his senses on alert. What magic was this?

_{A Potter? A House of merchants still exists, while my name has been obliterated by the sands of time?}_ His jewel eyes flashed, but his stony features and tone remained neutral. He could have been asking about the weather. _{Where is Sasara? The basilisk,}_ he explained at Harry.

_{Dead.}_

What looked like true shock flittered over Salazar's face. He quickly regained his composure.

_{By your hand?}_

_{Yes,}_ Harry answered. There was a momentary silence.

Then, _{You are a descendent?}_

_{I do not know.}_

_{Cut your thumb, and place a drop of blood on my lips.}_

_{Why should I trust you with my blood?}_

Salazar smiled. _{Very good. You know that blood is powerful. The other boy did not ask, and he nearly died for it.}_

_{Riddle?}_

_{Yes. He is a disgrace to my House and blood. I give you my word, Harry Potter, that I will not use your blood to harm you.}_

Harry narrowed his eyes suspiciously. _{Very well.}_ He took his wand and carefully cut his thumb, smeared a drop on the statue-Slytherin's lips, then healed his cut. The statue licked its lips, and frowned.

_{Your blood is pure, but you are not a descendent of mine.}_

_{I'm a half-blood,} _Harry corrected, but Salazar shook his head.

_{You come from the union of a pure witch and wizard. There is no non-magical blood within you.}_

_{My mother was muggle-born.}_

_{Was she? All the better. Naturally occurring new witches and wizards serve to replenish our stagnant bloodlines. It's the non-magicals, muggles you call them, that tarnish our Houses.}_

_{How so?}_

_{A non-magical and a pure magical will always produce a magical. That is a given. A mixed-blood and another mixed-blood usually produce magicals, but sometimes, they produce non-magicals. Squibs, I believe you call them. The more mixed-bloods there are, the more likely they will marry one another, and produce more mixed-bloods and squibs. Two squibs never produce magicals, but although a squib and a pureblood can produce magicals, they will be mixed-bloods. Squibs are the shame of a House, cast-aways who can never be a part of our society._

_{A new witch or wizard will always produce a magical, just like a pure magical. They help bring back purity into our bloodlines. Non-magicals, however, are dirt to be crushed under foot. They do not belong in our homes or beds.}_

It was obvious that Slytherin seriously detested muggles and squibs, but his reasoning, if freed from his bias, was sound. He wondered what other ideas had been corrupted over the years, but before he could think about it, Slytherin began to speak again.

_{Well, although you aren't of my blood, there is no one of my blood worthy of my complete works. I hope you don't have anything important happening today. This may take a while.}_

_{What?} _Harry began to ask, before the world went black.

/\/\/\/\/\

_Ulquiorra was glaring at him, his fist clenched tightly around his javelin. His other hand held Harry up by his collar._

"_What were you thinking, boy? Trusting a long dead man's words, striding in without a second thought, saying your name as though it meant nothing! He's performing some sort of ritual—making you his heir, I think—and it's essentially harmless, but there are a thousand other things he could have done instead with just your name and blood. Death is not the end of a person's power, as you well know!"_

_Ulquiorra set Harry on the ground, but continued to stare him down._

_Harry held his gaze, then submitted, looking down. What he had done was foolish and idiotic—his zanpakutou was right._

"_I…apologize."_

_Had he been looking up, he would have seen an odd emotion flicker in Ulquiorra's eyes._

"_Accepted. Now go back and fix this."_

/\/\/\/\/\

Harry woke up slowly, his blood pounding in his ears. He checked himself for injuries—there were none. He sat up and looked around. He was still in the den-room, and the statue-face of Salazar was staring at him from its place on the door.

_{You now have a trace of my, or rather, the man who I once was, blood in you—just a trace-but it is enough for me to name you my heir, which I have done. The Chamber will now open to you and you alone, not that half-blood idiot who calls himself Voldemort.}_

_{Do I have some sort of strange inheritance? Betrothals that have lingered through the centuries? Odd powers?}_

Salazar looked at him as though he were crazy. _{Any money I once had in my vaults is squandered. Many of my artifacts are scattered, though they will come to you if you call. Everything else I have of value is in this Chamber. The only power you would have gained you already have—the gift of parseltongue. That you already are a parseltongue is strange—only a few families throughout the world carry the power—but I suppose that fate may have a hand in it.}_

_{I see.}_

With that, the stone face melted back into the door, and the door creaked open. Harry lit his wand, and then cautiously, Ulquiorra's words ringing in his mind, stepped within.

The next room was small, and dust lay thickly on the floor and surfaces. A table in the middle took up most of the space, and it had spots where the dust wasn't as thick, as though something or things had lain there. Two of the walls held the sleeping portraits of Slytherin and what appeared to be his family. The third held a spectacular tapestry. Harry drew nearer. It was a family tree, self-updating, he suspected. Only two names were at the very bottom: Tom Marvolo Riddle and Harry James Potter-Slytherin. The former he traced up through the ages to Salazar's younger son. His own was a thin golden thread that snaked up the side of the tree and led straight to Slytherin himself.

There were two doors in the remaining wall. He opened one, and peered inside. It was a bedroom. He closed it for later inspection, and opened the other. It lead to an enormous library the size of the main chamber outside. Hazy green light filtered in through a glass ceiling fifty feet above his head. Dust motes danced from the disturbance he had caused. Floor to ceiling shelves completely obscured the walls, and a maze of bookcases of a normal, ten-foot height stretched over all of the available floor space. Suspended from the ceiling was the skeleton of an enormous dragon, and from its jaws, a branch of Gubraithian fire illuminated the entire room.

In front of him on a marble table was a tome of an incredible size. The words on the title were in a strange and ancient tongue. He touched it, and the words became familiar.

"Book of Titles," he read out loud, and flipped to the first page. It seemed to be a table of contents. "On Magic of Defense. On Magic of Offense. On Ritual Magics. On Secrecy Magics. On Light Magics. On Dark Magics…" he read, and the list went on. He flipped to the first section, Magic of Defense. It listed title upon title of books. He touched one called _The Wary Warrior: Spells that Shield and Protect._ Across the room, a bookcase lit up, and the book wiggled its way out of it, flying through the air to land in Harry's hands. A cold and calculating smile broke out on Harry's face. Knowledge was his.

He collected a few more books and went back through to the first room, the basilisk's den. The stone face was back.

_{Let no one read those. Let no one even touch them. You are the first to remove a book from my library in nearly a thousand years. I never allowed Riddle to take any, but I trust that you have more sense than he.}_ He frowned. _{Do not follow his footsteps. He was already inferior when he came here, and he has only made himself more so.}_ The face sank away, and Harry travelled back the way he came, deep in thought.

/\/\/\/\/\

"Where were you? Everyone is looking for you!" Draco exclaimed when he spotted Harry in the common room. People crowded around, looking at Harry expectantly.

"What?" Harry asked, glancing at an enchanted window. It was dark. He had been away far too long for it to still be dark. Had a day passed while he was unconscious?

"You weren't in your bed when I woke up, so I thought you had gone to breakfast, but you weren't there either. Then you weren't at any of your classes, or at lunch or dinner. I checked the Infirmary, just to be sure, but you weren't there either. Then Snape asked me where you were, and I told him I didn't know, and I think he told the other teachers, because there's been a lockdown and I'm pretty sure they are out there searching for you."

"You've really done it now, Potter," said one of the older Slytherins. "I wager they think Black kidnapped you. He's been spotted near the school."

Harry's face betrayed nothing. "I hit my head in a hidden passageway. I must have been knocked out for longer than I thought." The excuse wasn't perfect, but it was almost truth, and it explained why no one had found him. He could tell by the expressions on his House-mates faces that they didn't quite buy it, but they weren't tactless enough to pry into something he obviously wasn't going to reveal.

The wall that was the entrance to the Slytherin common room slid open, revealing Snape, McGonagall, and Dumbledore. The crowd of Slytherins parted, leaving him exposed to Snape's withering glare, McGonagall's stern concern, and Dumbledore's mask of twinkles.

"If you would follow us, Mr. Potter," Dumbledore said, beckoning. "We have a few questions on your whereabouts."

Harry followed in silence as they made their way to the stone gargoyle that guarded the entrance to the Headmaster's office.

"Fizzing Wizzbangs," Dumbledore stated, and the gargoyle leapt aside. They ascended, and he ushered them into his office. He gestured for everyone to sit down. Harry and McGonagall sat, but Snape remained standing, his glare never abating.

"Now, Mr. Potter, if you would please tell us where you have been this past few hours…and this summer."

/\/\/\/\/\

It had taken a lot of patience and eye-contact avoidance to leave that room with his secrets intact, but in the end, he had had to admit to having left the country. About his disappearance that day, he said nothing more than the story he had fed to the Slytherins. They had plied him with questions, but in the end, there was nothing legal they could do to force him to speak, although Snape had seemed to be on the edge of shoving a bottle of Veritaserum down his throat.

/\/\/\/\/\

Things went smoothly enough until the first Hogsmeade visit, though he had noticed Dumbledore's eyes on him more often than usual. He had sent his permission slip to the Dursleys earlier that month, and it had been returned hastily signed and stuffed back into its envelope, along with another couple hundred pounds and a note saying, _We'll give you whatever you want, just leave our family alone._

He had shrugged and put away the money, and kept the slip for the upcoming visit to the wizarding village. Snape had taken the slip with glittering eyes, but had said nothing. He lined up with his fellow Slytherins at the main entrance.

"We're going to have to go past the Dementors," Draco said, looking apprehensive despite his neutral tone. They were silent as they made their way to the carriages that would take them to the village.

The day was chilly, but as they got closer to the edge of Hogwarts' wards, it grew even more frigid. Frost lay in increasingly thick patches on the grass. Harry wrapped his muffler more securely and knew they were getting closer to the Dementors, the soul-sucking guardians of Azkaban. He didn't feel much different yet, but Draco was obviously affected. His eyes were wide and his teeth chattered, and fear practically poured off of him.

Then, suddenly, he saw them, beings like black robed wraiths. They made an unholy rattling noise, as if sucking the happiness right out of the air. Then, they seemed to shift, becoming skeletal men with black masks, large holes in their chests. They shifted back and forth, and then, all at once, they turned to look at Harry.

It was like being frozen alive, having all the attention and power of the Dementors focused on him. He could feel them dragging out his happiness. The little moments of contentedness, the small victories, the—

_Her face. Her smile. A hand outstretched, fading, leaving—_

"_**No!"**_he and his zanpakutou screamed, near simultaneously, and Harry opened his eyes.

He was in the infirmary.

"Awake at last, I see. You've had quite a day, my dear," said Madame Pomfrey, bustling about. She put a mug of steaming brown liquid in his hands. "Drink. It's hot chocolate. It will help."

Harry sipped the sweet liquid, feeling warmth trickle back into him.

"Honestly, Dementors guarding Hogwarts! This is a school, not a prison. And for those who are already delicate…" She glanced at him. He hid his annoyance at being called delicate.

"What happened?" he asked when he had finished his chocolate.

"It seems you collapsed, dearie. The Dementors seemed ready to give you the Kiss when they got them away from you. The Headmaster just about had a fit!"

"I…collapsed?"

"Yes, it was a dreadful thing. When they brought you in, you were shaking all over! You were muttering, but it was nothing any of us could understand. But there now, it's all over." She patted his shoulder, sighing when he flinched away. "Trully, you're alright now. Of course, you won't be able to visit Hogsmeade until these Dementors are all back where they belong, but safety first my dear."

"And when will that be?" Harry asked, irate.

"Well, when Black is captured, of course!"

/\/\/\/\/\

He hadn't been allowed to go to the Halloween Feast, which was not a problem for him. What was a problem, especially for him, but also for the entire school, was the news that Sirius Black had broken into Hogwarts and had slashed the Gryffindor common room entrance portrait. He had spent the night in the infirmary, several people, including the Headmaster, watching over him.

"Maybe he thinks you're a Gryffindor, like your parents," Draco said the next morning at breakfast.

"Azkaban must have really gotten to him, if he didn't even check his information before attacking," Blaise said. Harry merely shrugged.

"Are you alright now?" Pansy wanted to know, leaning into their conversation. She fluttered her lashes at Harry. "Two awful things in one day. How terrible."

"I'm fine," Harry said shortly.

"Of course," she said, backpedaling. "Well, maybe Professor Lupin will teach us the Patronus charm. Not that we'd be able to make much more than mist, but anything to ward off those awful Dementors!"

"What'd your Patronus be, Pansy? A dog? Because you certainly are proficient at licking arse," Draco said crudely. Pansy looked shocked, then turned away, her face redder than her rouge.

"That's not a way to talk to a lady," Millicent said, having overheard the last bit.

"What lady?" Draco said. Blaise let out a guffaw. Pansy bit her lip, looking like she was about to cry. Millicent frowned, but knew that pressing the issue would only make them turn on her.

Harry ignored the childish interaction, instead cracking open one of the books from the Chamber.

"I swear, all you've done lately is read," Draco said, turning back to Harry.

"I like to read," Harry said mildly, not looking up. Draco made a noise of disgust and turned to talk to Blaise about the upcoming quidditch match.

/\/\/\/\/\

Harry had never been happier for the Christmas holidays. He had told everyone that he was going to his aunt and uncle's, but when no one was looking, he snuck back down to the Chamber.

The previously unexplored bedroom he now entered, sneezing once as dust billowed up like smoke. He muttered a cleaning charm he had learned just for that purpose, then lit the lamp on the bedside table. The room was filled with the white glow of the magical lamp.

It wasn't a very large room, but it was spacy enough, with a bed big enough for five, an armoire, a desk and a personal bookcase. He quickly charmed the bed clean. The pillows were remarkably fluffy for being a thousand years old. Harry was sure there was some sort of preservation charm in the Chamber. The duvet and sheets were both a deep and velvety green, with silver embroidered snakes. He was reminded of Zig Zag, and idly wondered how the adder was doing back in Karakura.

The desk had only parchment, quills, and ink in the drawers. The bookcase was filled with interesting tomes he would be sure to look at later. He took his trunk and set it on the stone floor, and then opened it, taking out one of the meals he had packaged and placed under stasis. The house-elves were helpful indeed.

There was a door in the room he hadn't noticed before. Now he opened it, expecting to find a closet. Instead, there was a dark path that seemed to go straight for some time, then turned. He lit his wand and began to explore.

It was a long upward journey to where ever the path led to, but in the end, it was worth it. The tunnel ended in a rock-covered opening in the earth. He levitated the rock off and crawled out.

He was at the very edge of the Forbidden Forest, outside of the wards. The ground was snowy, and a chill breeze blew. He spread his senses. He was near Hogsmeade, and near a group of Dementors. He quickly retreated into the tunnel.

It was odd that Slytherin had such an exposed tunnel leading to his personal quarters. It surely had enchantments that made it undiscoverable. Harry knew just how useful such a tunnel could be.

Perhaps there were others. After all, Sasara, the basilisk, must have needed to find food.

It was going to be an enjoyable holiday.

/\/\/\/\/\

Christmas day, he hadn't expected to find presents at the foot of his bed. Cursing, he went to ask Salazar's statue-face.

_[My Chamber is still a part of Hogwarts,}_ Slytherin explained. _{And although the house-elves can't reach you here, Hogwarts has its ways. Years of magic absorbed through its walls have made the castle near-sentient.}_

_{That…is a very strange thought,}_ Harry said. He returned to his room to look at his presents.

There was the normal barrage of gifts from classmates trying to curry favor, and some money from the Dursleys. There was also a letter sealed with plain black wax. He opened it and read its contents.

_Harry,_

_This may not be the best way to go about this, but I don't think the Headmaster reads your mail. If anyone but you tries to read it, they'll just see a catalogue to Gladrags. There are a few things I need to straighten out._

_I was going to just send you a firebolt, but from what I've read, you're not exactly a quidditch guy. Well, people don't always grow up to be like their parents. I should know that. My parents were right bastards._

_If you're still reading, Harry, then know this. I was not the one that betrayed your parents to Voldemort, though I might as well have. Peter Pettigrew was the Secret Keeper. I convinced your parents to change to him, unbeknownst to all, because I thought I was too obvious a target. He turned out to be a rat, both figuratively and literally._

_When we were young, your dad, Peter, and I all became animagus. Why is not the point. The point is that Peter is hiding at Hogwarts in his rat form, pretending to be the pet of some Gryffindor pureblood "blood traitor" kid. That's why I tried to get into the Gryffindor common room. I'm not after you, just the bastard who signed your parent's death warrant._

_I know you probably don't believe me. You might have already burned this letter. It's the truth, though. Go have a talk with __Mo- __Professor Lupin, and ask about the Marauders. We were all part of your dad's little group._

_There's also one more thing you should know about me. I'm your godfather, and an awful one at that. I handed you over to Hagrid so that I could go hunt down Peter. Well, we know how that turned out. I should have been there for you. I'm sorry._

_Go ask Lupin about us. He'll tell you the truth, if he's still the man I know._

_Merlin, I'm an idiot for writing this. You won't ever believe me._

_With hope,_

_Sirius Black_

Long time no see, yeah? Well, don't get used to it, I'm afraid. I'm not sure when I will update next. Just a note, since some questions have been asked. Orihime and Ichigo are both in their late twenties. There is a time lapse, but I haven't really expanded upon it much. Maybe in later chapters.

This is definitely not a Harry/Orihime, although it is a bit Ulquiorra/Orihime, but not in a hugely romantic way. As for any future pairings, I honestly don't know. This story simply develops a mind of its own.

Thank you all for reviewing! 174 reviews for just three chapters! I didn't even know that was possible. Please review some more! :)

LilaKatze


	5. Chapter 5

Harry mulled over the letter for a long time, twisting the information this way and that. If Pettigrew was the traitor, had he been willing, or had he been forced? Was he marked? Did he have information on Voldemort? It was possible that capturing and interrogating Pettigrew would be worth the effort, and he could simply erase his memories and dump him somewhere conspicuous when he was done. Then, Black would be free and the Dementors—which he now realized where actually some type of hollow—would be taken back to Azkaban.

That Black was good friends with his father was not much of a surprise. It fit the information he had gathered so far. Presumably, he had to have been close to James Potter in order for people to have believed he was their Secret Keeper. That Lupin was also a part of his father's circle of friends answered more questions, such as why he always seemed unable to stop himself from staring at Harry when he was in class.

Harry wasn't particularly interested in what his parents were like. He had hazy memories of them watching over him with concerned looks. He remembered his parent's death in an abstract way, as a series of strong emotions from his mother (panic, fear, determination) and Voldemort (hatred, anger, short-lived triumph). Then, he remembered a feeling like an explosion of energy, like raw electricity and fire in his veins, and acid-green light, and pain.

_You released a Cero,_ Ulquiorra said to him. _Or, rather, you channeled the Cero that Murci__é__lago sent through you. A sliver of the curse passed through, and it tore deep inside your soul, dragging the heart into the dark place that it inhabits now. I barely managed to keep your soul from tearing altogether, and we were weak for years afterwards._

Harry felt himself get tugged into his inner world. He let himself sink into his mind.

"_And what about Voldemort's soul?" Harry asked when he arrived._

"_It fled. The cero greatly damaged him."_

_Murci__é__lago sauntered out of the Cave and smirked self-contentedly. "Bastard didn't know what was coming for him. There's no way anyone's gonna kill this body. You're lucky I'm a part of you. Otherwise, I wouldn't have cared a rat's ass if you had stayed alive."_

_The hollow held out a delicate white palm, and a pinprick of green light appeared above it, growing to about the size of a lime and pulsing gently._

"_What are you doing," Ulquiorra demanded to know._

"_Oh, nothing," Murci__é__lago said, giggling and tossing the ball of energy into the air and 'catching' it. The cero never touched his skin, Harry noted. Ulquiorra gave him one last suspicious look before turning back to Harry._

"_Once a week is not enough time to practice what Yoruichi taught you. If you are unprepared when you begin your training with her, you will only damage yourself. You will practice daily, and meditate daily."_

_Harry nodded grimly, aware that he had been slacking. Ulquiorra continued._

"_Along with your usual exercises, you will practice wielding me. When you are ready, you will go and purify a Dementor." His eyes flashed. "You must also search a way to protect yourself from their effects. Your soul is not to be food for hollows, and especially not those disgusting magic-gorged Menos."_

_Murci__é__lago giggled, still playing with his cero. Harry glanced at him, then asked, "Magic-gorged?"_

"_They don't feed on happy memories. They feed on magic and souls. The removal of happiness and promotion of fear is simply their hollow abilities. It seems a magical being will emit more magic when they are stressed than content."_

"_And the Patronus Charm?" He had been researching it, but had been mostly unsuccessful thus far._

"_The happy memory simply removes the wizard from the fear, and allows him to re-gather the magic he had been releasing. The Patronus itself, I suspect, is simply pure magic, and gives the hollow something else to feed upon. If my theory is correct, then meditation will work just as well as a happy memory."_

_Great. Meditation._

"_Is there anything else?" Harry asked, ready to leave. Ulquiorra was silent for a moment, and then answered._

"_Recall the day that Dumbledore questioned you about your whereabouts. I advised you to avoid eye-contact. He was trying to enter your mind, and if I had fought him off, he would have noticed. I suspect that there is another way for you to defend your mind. Research it, and research methods of mind probing. That is all."_

_Murci__é__lago giggled again. "Catch!" he exclaimed, tossing the ball of energy to Harry. Instinctively, Harry caught it, gasping as it sank into his flesh. His body tingled painfully, then seemed to go back to normal._

"_What was that?" he asked, checking himself for unseen injuries. It was as if nothing had happened._

"_A little Christmas present, from me to you. If you need it, just say the magic word. It should obey you well enough. You're not quite ready to learn it on your own, though, little master." He grinned wickedly. "You might just…be consumed."_

/\/\/\/\/\

By the end of the winter holidays, Harry had managed to produce copious amounts of pearly white mist, but had not achieved a corporeal patronus. He had brewed a few muscle-relaxing potions, as a result of his daily exertions, but otherwise, his days passed quietly. He had discovered the branch of magic that Dumbledore had been using. Legilimency, the ability to delve into minds, and Occlumency, the ability to protect one's mind from such attacks, were fascinating arts, and Harry absorbed the theory with relative enthusiasm. It involved a great deal of mental concentration, and meditation, which Harry found himself doing more and more often. He found that gathering his thoughts became easier with each passing day, and meditation was no longer so much of a chore. He had an excellent motivation, after all.

Adjusting back to days of classes was more difficult than he thought it would be. He was no longer free to read or practice spellwork at his leisure, and fitting in time to sneak away and practice was difficult. He took to waking early, disappearing to the Chamber to perform his exercises, and simply fit meditation into small quiet moments during the day. After dinner, he quickly finished his assignments and then studied his own books until he fell asleep from exhaustion.

"You're becoming a bookworm," Draco taunted on occasion, but Harry would merely stare at him for a moment and go back to whatever he was doing.

He spent a few lessons observing Lupin, figuring out the best way to approach him. He had found many records of detentions for all or some combination of the four friends, and a small article in an archived Daily Prophet about the unlikely friendship between the scion of the House of Black and that of the House of Potter. There was also another that announced the wedding of James Potter to Lily Evans, with much fuss about her lineage, and a photo that included his parents, Black, Pettigrew, Lupin, and a few others, smiling happily. Every so often, the image of James would thoroughly kiss the image of Lily, much to the gathered friends' delight. Harry made copies of the articles.

The next day, when Lupin dismissed class, he lingered behind, waiting until everyone had left before approaching Lupin's desk. The tired and unkempt man looked up, an oddly hopeful expression on his face.

Harry bit his lip, building a façade of shyness. He glanced into Lupin's amber eyes and looked away quickly. "I guess you knew my parents," he almost whispered. He slipped the marriage article onto the table. Lupin smiled at him encouragingly and glanced at the clipping, paling slightly when he saw the photo.

"Yes," he said gently. "I was friends with both James and Lily, although I knew James for longer." He traced the edge of the paper. "Those were happier times."

"Could you…tell me about them?"

Lupin smiled again, this time, a tinge of loss in his features. "Of course, Mr. Potter. Would you like a cup of tea? I believe my office would be better suited for this conversation."

Harry nodded, and followed Lupin to his office. He sat quietly, and whispered his thanks for the cup of tea Lupin set in front of him. They sat in silence for a long moment, and then Lupin cleared his throat and began to speak.

"I'm sure you've been told this before, Mr. Potter, but you look very like your father. Your eyes, though, are pure Lily. They were some of the finest people I have ever met, and extraordinarily gifted in magic."

Harry looked up at Lupin slowly. "You…" he began. Lupin looked at him expectantly. "You could call me Harry…if you want, I mean…"

This time, when Lupin smiled, it was full of bright warmth. "Thank you…Harry. If you would like, you may call me Remus in private. If things had not gone so awfully badly, we might have been as close as family."

Harry smiled, hiding a feeling of triumph. His act was working perfectly.

Lupin took a long sip of his tea, then said, "Yes, they were very gifted, much like yourself. Your father especially enjoyed transfiguration. He had the right kind of practical creativity. Your mother preferred charms and runes. She liked the complexity of spells, and once you got her started on experimental theory, she wouldn't stop until she had exhausted herself with excitement." He took another long sip. "Now, when they first met, Lily instantly disliked James, and he fell in love at the first sight. It took six long years and a lot of growing up for Lily to finally agree to go out with James. Once she gave him a chance, she realized just how much she hadn't known about him. They married just a month after graduating."

"What were they like?" Harry asked, knowing that the child he was supposed to be would want to know.

Lupin smiled fondly. "James was a real troublemaker. Nothing he did was quiet or small, and once he decided you were his friend, that was it. You were friends for life. He had a friendly smile for everyone. Well," he said, hesistating, "except for the Slytherins, but in later years, he matured past those childish rivalries. I'm sure he'd be very proud of you, no matter what house you are in."

Harry smiled tentatively. "And my mum?"

"She was beautiful and kind, and she hated the house rivalries. In fact, one of her best friends was in Slytherin. She was fair to everyone, and she was one of the top students in every class. She was an incredible woman, and I know she loved you very much."

Harry sat quietly for a moment, wondering if Lily had ever shared her worries about him with this man.

He glanced at the photo on Lupin's desk, then said, quietly but clearly enough that Lupin couldn't pretend to haven't heard him, "What about Sirius Black?"

Lupin seemed to choke. "What about him?"

"He's in that picture. And…" Harry lay the article about the Potter/Black friendship on the desk as well.

Lupin was quiet for a long moment. "Yes, Black was a friend of ours as well. He…some people aren't born evil, Harry. He was a good man, once."

"He betrayed my parents," Harry said quietly, and put a hint of a question in the words.

"I don't claim to understand his motives," Lupin said, just as quietly, "but he was born in a family that supported Voldemort until the end. Perhaps he thought he could finally find approval, or perhaps he was afraid, as we all were. You cannot understand just how much fear…it was a dark time, a hopeless time, for everyone." Lupin set his lips in a grim line. "No one knew who to trust."

"What about Pettigrew?" Harry asked.

"A good man, and a good friend, if a little shy. It is a shame that Sir—Black killed him." Lupin frowned for a moment. "I never thought things would turn out as they did." He shook himself from his reverie. "But this isn't the time for such unhappy thoughts. Isn't there anything else you'd like to know about James and Lily? Or perhaps you'd like to wait for another day?"

Harry nodded. "I have some school work to do," he said, and excused himself.

/\/\/\/\/\

Sirius hadn't been lying about the friendship, it seemed. He reread the letter. A pureblood "blood traitor". There were a few of those in the school, but he doubted many had pet rats. He would scout about to see who it could be.

/\/\/\/\/\

Acquiring the rat had been one of the easiest things he had done in a long while. A simple accio while the Weasley boy wasn't paying attention was enough. He had quickly bound the rat and slipped it in his pocket, and slipped down to the Chamber while everyone ate dinner. He placed the rat on the ground, still bound, and scratched a few runes into the ground around it in a rough square with his wand. He recited a simple ward. It acted like a cage, without stopping magic from going in and out.

He removed the bindings and forced Pettrigrew to become human again, watching with mild fascination as the rat grew and stretched, losing fur and gaining human features. His skin was grey and dull, and he was balding and unkempt, with the look of a man who had lost too much weight too quickly. His baggy skin shook with fear as he realized he was trapped.

"Harry!" he said, surprised, putting his hands against the edge of the ward. His eyes darted around, and sweat beaded on his temples. "You—you've saved me! All these years, I've hidden—"

"Be quiet," Harry commanded, and Pettigrew was silent. Harry stared into the man's eyes, letting the world fall away. "Legilimens."

He found himself in a rat's nest of thoughts and feelings, fear, guilt, self-hatred, shock. Snippets of conversation and flashes of images came, a storm of fragmented memory.

"_You killed them! Tra-"_

"_-very pleased, my loyal ser-"_

"_-say hi to Wormtail, Harry, won't you sa-"_

It was overwhelming, and he fought to keep his identity as the mind of the other man swamped him. He forced himself back into the real world, clutching his head and recoiling. His head pounded viciously, as though he had beaten it against a wall. Lingering fear made his heart race, and his breath came in forced gasps. He opened eyes he hadn't realized were closed.

Pettigrew was on the ground, arms around his head and whimpering loudly, visibly shaking even harder than before.

"Please, don't hurt me!" he cried out.

Harry stunned him and sat down, slowly recuperating. He slipped into his own mind, wanting to get away from that helpless feeling that ruled Pettigrew's thoughts.

"_That was pathetic," Ulquiorra said. He glared at Harry, a pinched look in his own face, as though he, too, was in pain. "Why are you wasting time with that trash?"_

_Harry fought the urge to scowl. "At least I can practice on him. It was my first attempt at legilimency. He could have information, too."_

_Murci__é__lago stepped out of the caved, giggling, and made pleading eyes towards Ulquiorra. "Aww, can't we keep it, though? It's cute, in a stupid, cowardly way. It'll make a nice pet to experiment on."_

_Ulquiorra frowned. "Take care that he does not escape."_

"_He will not. I can wipe his memories when I am done."_

"_And Black?" Ulquiorra's eyes were cold and calculating._

"_I don't know," Harry admitted. "I suppose he would simply be let free once Pettigrew is discovered. In the meantime, he has avoided the Dementors well enough on his own."_

"_He will want to be your guardian. He _is_ your godfather."_

_Harry was silent. "I will think about this," he said, his mind working furiously._

_Ulquiorra unsheathed his sword. "Then let us spar. Do you remember what I taught you last time?"_

_Harry unsheathed his own sword. "Of course," he said, and their blades clashed._

/\/\/\/\/\

"_You've failed me again, Wormtail," Master said, his red eyes boring into him, gleaming in the firelight._

"_I'm so-so-sorry M-master," Wormtail whimpered, unable to lower his small and watery eyes from the Dark Lord's gaze. He winced as his master roughly entered his mind._

_**Lily, very pregnant, waddling into the Order meeting, James hovering protectively at her side.**_

_**Dumbledore, smiling benignly, calming the frantic and helpless air of the meeting.**_

_**Mad Eye, eyeing Peter suspiciously as sweat beaded on the younger man's forehead.**_

"_**For the sake of the Wizarding world, you must go into hiding. It could be either of your children," Dumbledore said, softly, sadly. Alice and Lily, frowns etched into the corners of their mouths, nodded. Alice rubbed her swollen middle protectively.**_

"_**But what is it that makes the children a threat to him, Albus?" That was Frank, worry in his tone.**_

"_**I'm afraid I can't say. It would make their situation even more dangerous."**_

"_**We'll need Secret Keepers," Alice said, and the others nodded.**_

_**Lily was crying, but quietly. James held her close, and turned his gaze to Dumbledore.**_

"_**You said that the Fidelius Charm was unbreakable!"**_

"_**The strength of the Charm lies in the loyalty of the Secret Keeper," he began, but Lily cut him off.**_

"_**He was the most loyal man I've ever known! He would never have told—"**_

"_**Alas, even the fiercest of loyalties can be broken, my dear. Never underestimate the power of torture on the human soul. What happened to Alice and Frank was tragic indeed."**_

_**Sirius paced back and forth, snarling under his breath. "I'm too obvious," he said, and James looked like he wanted to agree. There was a moment of silence, and then eyes turned towards Peter.**_

_The Dark Lord laughed and laughed, malice tainting his glee. Wormtail shook, guilt swamping him._

"_It seems you haven't failed me after all. When will the exchange be made?"_

"_October twenty-third, milord."_

"_Then I shall strike on the thirty-first. An auspicious day, is it not? All Hallows' Eve."_

Harry removed himself from Pettigrew's mind, shaking off the lingering feelings of guilt and self-loathing. The man's emotions weren't supposed to affect him so much. He took several deep breaths, and then forced the man to look into his eyes once more.

"_Legilimens!_"

/\/\/\/\/\

Harry rubbed his temples as he struggled to pay attention in Transfiguration. His wooden goblet was only slightly transparent, nowhere near the clear crystal he needed it to be. He took several deep breaths and cleared his mind, and then imagined the transformation he needed to happen. He tried the spell again, and this time, he succeeded…only to wince as the goblet shattered loudly, fragments going in every direction. A bit cut his cheek, and he flinched.

"Mr. Potter, are you quite alright? That is the third time you've failed a transfiguration this month," McGonagall asked, her mouth in a stern frown.

"I'm fine, professor," Harry said, waving his wand and muttering, "_Reparo_." The goblet reformed, but soon crumbled, becoming just a pile of fine sand on his desk.

"Obviously not," she said wryly. "Off to the infirmary with you, lad."

Harry sighed and got up, ignoring the stares from his classmates. Ordinarily, he never failed transfiguring one object to another. He walked to towards the door.

"I'll be checking with Madame Pomfrey, so don't think you can just go back to your dormitory!" McGonagall called after him, and he nodded, stepping into the hallway. He made his way to the Hospital Wing, feeling faint and dizzy.

It was probably the legilimency. Each time he entered the sniveling man's head, he felt absolutely awful afterwords. It got easier each time, but the combined effects made his head pound and his stomach churn. He wasn't getting much sleep, either, and his food intake was less than ideal. He had been taking a few Wit-Sharpening potions, and the stuff for his muscles…

The last thing he saw was the cold, stone floor before the world went black.

/\/\/\/\/\

"_What's wrong with him?" Murci__é__lago asked, prodding the sleeping boy._

"_A combination of unhealthy behaviors," Ulquiorra said, narrowing his eyes at Harry's unconscious form. "He was acting like…trash."_

"_An idiot, as usual," Murci__é__lago giggled, stroking Harry's face. "He's so cute when he's sleeping."_

_Ulquiorra ignored the remark, wondering how he could have missed the signs that his master was falling ill. Despite his powers and intelligence, a boy was still a boy, with mental and physical needs and limits._

/\/\/\/\/\

"Will he be alright?" Dumbledore asked Madame Pomfrey. She sighed.

"Yes, of course he will be alright. As far as potion mix-ups go, this was a minor case. The only reason it hit him so hard is that he was suffering from exhaustion, too. He needs rest, food, and a lesson on taking too many potions."

"Which potions were involved?"

"The Wit Sharpening potion, which is fairly standard, although I usually see more Ravenclaws in here because of that. It doesn't seem he was taking it too much, but he was also taking a muscle relaxant, and a few ingredients reacted with each other badly. He would have had headaches, muscle pain, and a lack of concentration, which, ironically, is exactly the opposite purpose of the potions."

The Headmaster wondered what, exactly, Harry was doing to make him take those potions.

"When will he be ready for class again?" Dumbledore asked.

"Oh, whenever he wakes up. It depends on how long he's been taking the potions. Within a week's time, for sure. He simply needs to get rid of the potions in his system."

"I see."

Pomfrey shook her head. "Poor boy. All that stress about Black, I'm sure. I'll be glad when this whole mess is over with."

"I as well, my dear," he said, and wondered what Harry really knew about Sirius Black.

/\/\/\/\/\

_Harry opened his eyes, feeling as though he was rising out of a cloud of darkness. His eyes met black and yellow ones. He could barely feel shock through his daze._

"_Finally!" Murci__é__lago said. He was straddled around Harry's waist, with his elbows sharply digging into his chest. A bit of blood dripped from his scar onto Harry's nose. "You've been asleep for five days!"_

"_Five?" The hollow child got off of him, and Harry sat up._

"_Yes," said Ulquiorra, a frigid edge to his normally calm tone. "Your inability to maintain your body has brought unwanted attention on you. This oversight is unacceptable."_

_Harry looked down, and then met the other's gaze again. "I apologize," he said. Ulquiorra's eyes narrowed._

"_Apologies mean nothing. Go. There is much to be done, and you have done no one a favor with your idiotic actions."_

_His inner world faded as Ulquiorra's glowing green eyes bored into him._

He inhaled, keeping his eyes closed, filling his nose with sharp odor of potions and sanitation. He was in the infirmary, he realized, and felt about for people. The nurse was away, likely in her office, and no one else was currently in her care. That was a rarity, he knew, and he opened his eyes and sat up, intending to escape before she could lecture him on the proper usage of potions. He heard her office door open and cursed internally. Of course, she likely had spells that alerted her when her patients were awake.

"Ah, Mr. Potter, good to see that you have recovered!"

Harry was silent, eying the door. Madame Pomfrey tutted, scanning him with her wand.

"It seems that the potions you consumed are completely out of your system now. Mr. Potter, are you aware that the combination of Wit Sharpening and muscle relaxing potions is extremely unwise? I—"

"The armadillo bile and the crushed rattlesnake spleen, I realize. I overlooked it, but I will be more careful in the future."

"Not only that, Mr. Potter," she said with pursed lips. "You came in quite exhausted and overworked. I'm afraid that you will have to come in for regular checkups until I see that you have been treating yourself correctly."

"With all due respect, Madame," he began to argue.

"I will not discuss this, Mr. Potter. Now, I understand that you must be very stressed with Sirius Black still on the loose, but that is no excuse to let yourself go. You will come here every Saturday morning, and you will eat properly and sleep for at least nine hours every night."

Harry was silent, and then nodded. "May I leave?"

The nurse sighed. "Very well. Do talk with your teachers so that you may catch up with your peers. I suggest that you either take only one of the two potions you were consuming, or perhaps find an alternative for one that isn't counterproductive."

"Yes Madame," Harry replied, and gathered his wand from the nightstand. He nodded curtly and left, frowning.

Five days…what had happened to Pettigrew? By the light outside, it seemed that it was dinner time, or near then. He made his way toward the girl's loo, and went into the Chamber.

Pettigrew was still alive, it seemed. He sat very still in the middle of his cage, occasionally licking his lips. His water pitcher was empty, and his skin was even more unhealthy-looking that normal. Relieved, Harry refilled his pitcher, ignoring the squeak of fear that the small man made as he approached. Pettigrew crawled towards the filled pitcher, and, not daring to glance at Harry, took the pitcher in his hands and drank deeply. Water sloshed out, soaking the front of his shirt, but he ignored it, drinking all of the contents of the pitcher and setting it down again. Harry refilled it again with a silent _aguamenti_, but Peter slunk off into a corner of his cage, gnawing on his nails.

Reassured that his plans hadn't been ruined, Harry made his way back to the Great Hall.

/\/\/\/\/\

"_Expecto Patronum_," Harry stated, his mind firmly under his control. Magic exploded out of the tip of his wand, shifting and stretching to form a large, pearly white bat. It flapped its wings almost lethargically, as if it knew that, as a being of pure magic, it didn't need to make such mundane motions to lift from the ground. It flew around the Chamber, and then returned to Harry, cocking its head as if waiting for a command.

Harry was reminded of Murciélago, and for a brief moment, expected the patronus to speak with his child tones and acid words. Instead, it seemed to take his silence as a dismissal, and simply dissipated, leaving no trace of its having ever been there.

Triumph filled him, and he reveled in the accomplishment. It had been a long and arduous process, learning how to gather his magic and force it into shape. He could see how using a happy memory would help, but his every attempt using that method had failed utterly. He could not think of a memory powerful enough to catalyze the process.

He wondered if the actual presence of a Dementor would hinder his ability to produce a patronus, and decided that he would practice the technique until he could do it at a moment's notice. Clearing his thoughts and pulling together his magic, he incanted once more.

/\/\/\/\/\

Harry kept his curses to himself as he heard about Black breaking into the Gryffindor dormitories. The end of January had come and gone, and he had forgotten about Black's situation. _He must have assumed that I had destroyed his letter,_ Harry thought, trying to block out the sounds of his whispering housemates.

Although he wanted the Dementors gone, and Peter had outlived his usefulness (his feeble mind having broken under the strain of so many brutal and inexperienced rummaging-throughs), he didn't want anyone to have any legitimate guardianship over him. The Dursleys didn't count; they allowed him to do as he pleased. Black he wasn't so sure about.

But Black clearly cared for him, and thus, he could be manipulated. He was powerful: magically, as the only man to have escaped from Azkaban, and politically, as the only heir to the infamous Black lineage. If he could be persuaded to vacation in Japan…but no, there would have to be a reason for Harry disappearing for hours on end.

Harry wasn't sure how to proceed. If, perhaps, he could meet with the man, he could calculate the best way forward, but that was hardly likely to happen. He was certain the man wouldn't harm him, but finding a way to sneak out of the building—

Harry smiled a satisfied smile. There was a simple way for him to sneak out of the building. Slytherin's hidden passage emerged very near the wizarding village of Hogsmeade. He would have the outlaw meet him at the edge of the forest, and give him an ultimatum: allow Harry to do as he pleased and support him politically, and go free, or stay at large and never speak to his best friend's son again. He was certain the man would choose the former.

He would have to implement the plan soon, and use the time before then to practice his patronus and his zanpakutou techniques on the Dementors before they left. Perhaps he could even feed Peter's soul to one. It would be interesting to see exactly how it was that they devoured the wizard's soul and left his body intact.

/\/\/\/\/\

It was gruesome, even for him. The rattling, sucking efforts of the Dementor literally tore the soul from its body, swallowing it head first until only the chain dangled from its gaping mouth, and then snapping the chain. The body screamed and writhed in the process, still feeling pain until the cord that attached it to its soul was severed. Disgusted, Harry swung his blade at the Dementor, neatly slicing it in two. It disappeared, cleansed of its sins.

He allowed his bat patronus to disappear, and then sank back into his body. It had been difficult to separate himself from his material shell at first, but repeated attempts and many bruises later, he could do it on command. Swishing his wand, he made Peter's living corpse trail after him as he returned to the Chamber.

It was a matter of convenience, he thought to himself. Even obliviation charms could be broken, and so having Peter's soul be consumed would secure his less-than-Gryffindor doings more than any wand-waving technique. He hadn't realized just how inhumane the process was, but he brushed it off as inconsequential. He tried to ignore the thought that Orihime would have been horrified by his actions.

_Can you be sure that the end justifies the means?_

Harry didn't have an answer for his zanpakutou.

/\/\/\/\/\

_Sirius Black,_

_I am writing to tell you that I believe you. I have captured Pettigrew. He is not a threat any longer. However, there are several things that I must discuss with you. Are you willing to meet me at the edge of the Forbidden Forest by the Shrieking Shack? If so, send a time and date._

_I will be looking for a large, black dog. You will be looking for a silver bat. It is my patronus. It will lead you to me. I will be alone._

_What I have stated above is true, on my magic._

_Harry Potter_

/\/\/\/\/\

_Harry,_

_You must be as crazy as your father to be sneaking out with Dementors on the loose. It's good to hear you have a patronus. That must be Lily in you—she was always good at Charms._

_You captured Peter? Is that why he wasn't in the Gryffindor's room? Makes sense, I guess._

_I am more than willing to meet you, Harry. Tomorrow is a Hogsmeade weekend, I heard Rosmerta say, so that's out. The 13__th__, then, around noon. Make sure no one is looking for you. Bring food._

_I'd trust you even if you didn't swear, but I swear on my magic that I will not harm you._

_Sirius Black_

Harry raised an eyebrow. The last sentence, even the part about trusting him, was written in blood. Harry's oath had been a formality. Sirius's was binding. Harry wondered where he had gotten parchment and a quill, but there were several shops in Hogsmeade that a stray could conceivably pilfer from. He set the letter down, and began to meditate.

"_This is reckless."_

_Harry frowned. He had thought of everything, but yes, it was reckless. He was betting everything on his predictions, but he was very sure that the predictions were right._

"_He swore on his magic."_

_Ulquiorra was silent. He gazed up at the moon, his pale features nearly glowing._

"_What does harm mean to a man who spent twelve years in the presence of Dementors?"_

"_I can protect myself—"_

"_You cannot be sure. You don't know his level of skill."_

"_I'm already dead. He can't—"_

_Ulquiorra fixed him with an icy stare. "You are alive until your body ceases to accept your soul. Death is irreversible. You can still be harmed. Wounds of the flesh become wounds of the spiritual body, and those of the spiritual body become those of the flesh."_

"_Still," Harry persisted, "I am certain that he will cooperate."_

"_He is not to be trusted."_

"_Of course," Harry said, and they were in agreement._

/\/\/\/\/\

The walk through the tunnel was long, but not unpleasant, as the floor yielded nicely to his footsteps. He lifted the stone entrance and closed it behind him, then wrapped his invisibility cloak around himself and stepped out into the snowy forest. He had dispatched any Dementors that came near the area, and they soon learned to avoid it. He walked briskly towards the Shrieking Shack, scanning the snow-covered landscape for Black's animagus form. A big, black blur huddled on the leeward side of the house, obviously miserable.

Controlling his thoughts and concentrating on his magic, he whispered, "_Expecto patronum_," and watched as his silvery bat fluttered towards the dog. Black looked up, sprang to his feet, and barked, tail wagging furiously.

Harry walked back through the snow into the forest to a small clearing he had marked out before. He cleared away the snow and cast a warming charm. Soon, his Patronus caught up with him, and Black followed obediently. He entered the clearing and sat, tail thumping on the ground, looking around expectantly. Harry removed his cloak.

For a moment, all the dog could do was stare. Then, in a smooth and practiced motion, he jumped up and morphed into his human form. He stepped closer to Harry, his wind-whipped face so full of hope and pain that Harry almost felt pity.

"Harry…" he said, and a tear fell down his face.

"Sirius Black."

There was a long silence, awkward and still. Harry slipped a hand into his pocket, and removed a small bag.

"_Engorgio,_" he said, and the bag returned to its original size, bigger around then his arms could hold. He set it down and opened it. It was full of sacked meals, enough to feed a person for a month, each under stasis and preservation charms. He tossed one at Black, who barely managed to catch it.

"It's food," Harry said, and Black looked at him with such pathetic gratefulness that Harry had to look away. He heard the sack being ripped open, and then ravenous chewing.

Harry sat down and turned to watch Black devour the meat pie. He bit savagely into the apple, which was gone in five bites, and then washed everything down with a bottle of pumpkin juice. He wiped his sleeve across his face and sighed.

"Nothing like a solid meal after all those rats," he said, and then grinned. "But tearing the damn things apart did bring some satisfaction."

"Rats are…disgusting creatures," Harry agreed.

"Speaking of rats...you really caught Pettigrew?"

Harry nodded once, and watched Black's reaction.

He glanced around as though expecting to see him behind a tree, his bearded, worn face flashing through emotions as carelessly as a child. "Where is he?"

"He's in a safe place. I can choose to expose him and let you go free…or I can choose to destroy him, the last evidence of your innocence."

The look on Black's face was almost comical, a mixture of shock, fear, and rampant confusion. Then, as though a switch were being turned, his features were carefully schooled into a neutral expression. The damage was done, though. They both knew who had the upper hand.

"What are your terms?"

"I need freedom of movement, under the guise of your guardianship. I need to be able to go anywhere and do as I must, without interference, no questions asked. In other words, I need your complete loyalty and service: an oath of Fealty"

Black smiled grimly, and said, "I can see why the Hat put you in Slytherin. I have no choice but to accept, of course. I would rather be free, and in your service, than an outlaw, accused of a crime I would never have committed."

"Good. I thought as much. Shall we swear?"

Black nodded, and held out his hand, dropping to one knee. Harry reached out and clasped it firmly, ignoring his distaste of touch.

"I, Sirius Cygnus Black, do swear upon my magic, Fealty to one Harry James Potter, to serve him with loyalty and respect."

"I, Harry James Potter, do accept Sirius Cygnus Black as my vassal, and resolve to be a fair and just Lord, upon my magic."

A rope of smoke wound around their hands and sank into their skin. Harry helped Sirius to his feet.

"I'll arrange for your release at once," Harry said. "In the meantime, follow me." Harry reshrank the bag of food and led Sirius toward the tunnel entrance. As he revealed the tunnel and motioned for Black to enter, Black raised his eyebrows in surprise.

"I thought we found them all," he said under his breath.

"All of what?" Harry asked, and Black smiled in an odd way – pained, perhaps, or nostalgic.

"All of the hidden passageways out of the castle."

"That is how you got in," Harry stated.

"Yes," Black said, and his smiled faded. "There are seven in all, that we knew of, at least. One leads from the castle grounds to the Shrieking Shack. I've been staying there."

"That close to the school – and to the Dementors? That seems…unwise."

Black barked a harsh laugh. "Unwise! That's me, in a nutshell, kiddo. I just swore fealty to a kid I've not seen in twelve years, who blackmailed me without even a nervous stutter. For all I know, you're delivering me to be kissed and you never found Peter at all."

Harry heard his inner hollow cackling. _Honest as a dog._

"The reason you never found this passageway is because it has been hidden for a thousand years, Sirius Black. It leads to the Chamber of Secrets. While your name is cleared, you will be safe and fed within its walls."

"The Chamber of Secrets?" Black exclaimed, shocked. "Were you the one who…?" His eyes were wide.

"No, that was a fragment of Voldemort's soul, which had possessed the body of a young witch. I followed her and found the Chamber. I was the one who removed her from the Chamber and ended her possession. That fragment of soul has been sent to Hell."

Black was silent.

"Understandably, you may have doubts about me," Harry said, "and there is no way for you to know if my story is true. I am not bloodthirsty, Black, but lacking conscience. It is difficult for me to feel emotion. I am sure you remember how I was as an infant."

"The quietest, creepiest baby I ever laid my eyes on," Black muttered.

"There were unique circumstances surrounding my conception. My desire is to restore my mind and emotional core – my heart, so to speak – to its natural state. I have no ambitions of ruling, of domination. A desire for power and knowledge, certainly. But control of others does not appeal to me."

They had reached Slytherin's – or, rather, Harry's – hidden chamber. He opened the door and let Black into the thousand-year-old bedroom, and once again un-shrank the bag of meals.

"There are basic necessities in the adjoining bathroom. There is a hallway with two doors outside of this room. One has a sculpted portrait of Salazar Slytherin. Do not antagonize him, as he is more powerful than an average portrait. He has been told of your presence here. The other leads to a library. If you cannot move or read a book, do not keep trying. This is a Chamber of Secrets for a reason. Feel free to read those which you are able to."

Black nodded, seemingly a bit dazed. With a heavy motion, he sat on the bed, his arms crossed in his obvious discomfort.

"As I was saying, Sirius Black, I am not looking to become a dictator or Dark Lord. My motivation for freeing you is simple: I want to be able to move freely. Once you are freed, I expect you to take action to become my guardian. I will set the stage for this. Then, each summer you will come with me to Japan. You may do as you wish there so long as you don't interfere with my training. While I am at Hogwarts, you may do as you please."

Black looked up at this.

"I'm not just going to ignore you, kiddo. You might not feel emotion, but I do." His eyes were bright and fierce, and Harry could see that emotion was nearly beyond Black's ability to control it. "I was there for your birth. I changed your nappies. I dreamed of you for twelve years in a dank cell, was tortured by the thought that I abandoned you to chase that _traitor_ when I should have taken your from that thrice-damned cottage myself. You'll have your freedom of movement – even if I could say no, I wouldn't – but I won't be just sitting by doing nothing. Whatever it is you need, I'll help. And – and I can teach you to duel. I noticed you didn't say anything about wanting to defeat Voldemort." Here Sirius shuddered as though saying the named chilled him. "But it seems you've already faced him twice, and I know he can't be gone for good, if bits of his _soul_ are still around." The look on his face was pure revulsion. "I heard them in the cells, screaming your name, swearing to take vengeance. Their worst memory is the rest of the world's best – the day the Dark Lord disappeared. We thought he was dead!" He shook his head. "Once he has even a smidgeon of power, he'll break them out. Those that aren't in Azkaban – Lucius Malfoy, chiefly – will be manipulating things against you, and likely have been, from behind the scenes. The Death Eaters and Voldemort will be after you, even if you don't go after them."

From Black's perspective, it would seem as though Harry were staring silently at the wall for nearly a minute. Within his mind, three voices discussed this new development.

"_I had not anticipated this," Ulquiorra admitted. "The danger you are in is greater than I realized."_

"_I'd like to see some Death Eater try to kill us! I'll tear them apart!"_

"_He was in the last war. He may have been locked away for twelve years, but he knows the Wizarding World better than most. He's a pureblood, the heir to a fortune and scion of an ancient bloodline."_

"_You planned to manipulate him. Are you considering him an ally instead?"_

_Harry thought about it. "I have a feeling he will be more valuable as an ally. He is impulsive, but canny. In a few sentences, he made himself invaluable to me, offering to train me and aid me as no other witch or wizard can, given my age and the secrecy of Voldemort's wraith existence. He willingly gave me the upper hand and immediate made the best of his situation."_

"_He a sly dog, but a loyal dog. He's not gonna turn his back. He _loves_ you." Murciélago giggled. "It's pathetic."_

"_Love is not a weakness," Ulquiorra stated coldly. _

_Murciélago giggled again. "If you say sooo!" he singsonged._

"_Take his offer," Ulquiorra advised. "An ally is better than a tool."_

Harry nodded. "You are wiser than you claim, Sirius Black. I accept your offer, and consider you an ally."

The escapee grinned. "Just call me Sirius, then, Harry, and it's a deal."

Harry attempted a smile. "Very well, Sirius."


End file.
